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BEN STONE AT 
OAKDALE 


BY 

MORGAN SCOTT 

AUTHOR OF “BOYS OF OAKDALE ACADEMY,” ETC. 


With Four Original Illustrations by THEO. BECHTOLF 


NEW YORK 

HURST & COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


- 


e> 


Copyright, 1911, 

By 

HURST & COMPANY 



©01 A 2 831 94 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Ben Stone 5 

II. The Pariah 16 

III. One Ray of Light 26 

IV. A Brave Heart 40 

V. One More Chance 49 

VI. Into the Shadows 61 

VII. A Desperate Encounter 71 

VIII. A Rift 83 

IX. Proffered Friendship 96 

X. Stone’s Story 105 

XI. On the Threshold 118 

XII. The Skies Brighten 127 

XIII. Hayden’s Demand 135 

XIV. The Bone of Contention 142 

XV. The Fellow Who Wouldn’t Yield . . .152 

XVI. Stone’s Defiance 162 

XVII. An Armed Truce 170 

XVIII. The Game 179 

XIX. Between the Halves 190 

3 


4 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XX. One Who Was True 198 

XXI. A Surprising Meeting 209 

XXII. A Sympathetic Soul 218 

XXIII. The Blind Fugitive 228 

XXIV. Gouds Gather Again 235 

XXV. Flight 247 

XXVI. The Arrest 256 

XXVII. The Darkest Hour 265 

XXVIII. On Trial 280 

XXIX. Sleuth’s Clever Work 296 

XXX. Gear Skies 309 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


“I can’t afford to give a cent!” . . . Frontispiece « 

FACING PAGE 

The boy set his teeth and did his best to make 

every blow count 77 / 


Something smote Ben with a terriffic shock . . 189V 


“Here they be!” 


260 


» \ 




BEN STONE AT OAKDALE. 


CHAPTER I. 

B£N stone:. 

As he was leaving the academy on the after- 
noon of his third day at school in Oakdale, Ben 
Stone was stopped by Roger Eliot, the captain of 
the football team. Roger was a big, sturdy chap, 
singularly grave for a boy of his years; and he 
could not be called handsome, save when he 
laughed, which was seldom. Laughter always 
transformed his features until they became re- 
markably attractive. 

Compared with Ben, however, Roger appeared 
decidedly comely, for the new boy was painfully 
plain and uncouth. He was solid and stocky, 
with thick shoulders and rather big limbs, having 
a freckled face and reddish hair. He had a 
5 


6 


BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


somewhat large nose, although this alone would 
not have been detrimental to his appearance. 
It was his square jaw, firm-shut mouth, and 
seemingly sullen manner that had prevented any 
of the boys of the school from seeking his ac- 
quaintance up to this point. Half of his left ear 
was gone, as if it had been slashed off with some 
sharp instrument. 

Since coming to Oakdale Ben had seemed to 
shun the boys at the school, seeking to make no 
acquaintances, and he was somewhat surprised 
when the captain of the eleven addressed him. 
Roger, however, was not long in making his 
purpose clear; he took from his pocket and un- 
folded a long paper, on which were written 
many names in two extended columns. 

“Your name is Stone, I believe ?” he said in- 
quiringly. 

“Yes, sir,” answered Ben. 

“Well, Stone, as you are one of us, you must 
be interested in the success of the football team. 
All the fellows are, you know. We must have 
a coach this year if we expect to beat Wyndham, 
and a coach costs money. Everybody is giving 


BEN STONE 


7 


something. You see, they have put down against 
their names the sums they are willing to give. 
Give us a lift, and make it as generous as 
possible.” 

He extended the subscription paper toward 
the stocky boy, who, however, made no move 
to take it. 

Several of the boys, some of them in football 
clothes, for there was to be practice immediately 
after school, had paused in a little group a short 
distance from the academy steps and were watch- 
ing to note the result of Roger’s appeal to the 
new scholar. 

Ben saw them and knew why they were wait- 
ing there. A slow flush overspread his face, and 
a look of mingled shame and defiance filled his 
brownish eyes. Involuntarily he glanced down 
at his homespun clothes and thick boots. In 
every way he was the poorest-dressed boy in the 
school. 

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, in a low 
tone, without looking up. “I can’t give any- 
thing.” 

Roger Eliot showed surprise and disappoint- 


8 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

ment, but he did not immediately give over the 
effort. 

“Why, of course you'll give something," he 
declared, as if there could be no doubt on that 
point. “Every one does. Every one I've asked 
so far has; if you refuse, you’ll be the first. Of 
course, if you can’t afford to give much ” 

“I can’t afford to give a cent,’’ interrupted Ben 
grimly, almost repellantly. 

Roger slowly refolded the paper, looking the 
other over closely. He took note of the fellow’s 
well-worn clothes and poverty-touched appear- 
ance, and with dawning comprehension he be- 
gan to understand the meaning of the flush on 
Ben’s cheeks. Instead of being offended, he 
found himself sorry for the new boy. 

“Oh, all right !” he said, in a manner that sur- 
prised and relieved Stone. “You know your own 
business, and I’m sure you’d like to give some- 
thing.’’ 

These words, together with Eliot’s almost 
friendly way, broke down the barrier of resent- 
ment which had risen unbidden in the heart of 
the stocky lad, who suddenly exclaimed: 


BEN STONE 


9 


“Indeed I would! I’m powerful sorry I can’t. 
Perhaps — by an’ by — if I find Fm going to get 
through all right — perhaps I’ll be able to give 
something. I will if I can, I promise you that.” 

“Well, now, that’s the right stuff,” nodded 
Roger heartily. “I like that. Perhaps you can 
help us out in another way. You’re built for a 
good line man, and we may be able to make use 
of you. All the candidates are coming out to- 
day. Do you play?” 

“I have — a little,” answered Ben; “but that 
was some time ago. I don’t know much about 
the game, and I don’t believe I’d be any good 
now. I’m all out of practice.” 

“Never you mind that,” said the captain of the 
team. “Lots of the fellows who are coming out 
for practice have never played at all, and don’t 
know anything about it. We need a good lot of 
material for the coach to work up and weed out 
when we get him, so you just come along over 
to the field.” 

Almost before Ben realized what was hap- 
pening, Roger had him by the arm and was 
marching him off. They joined the others, and 


io BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


Roger introduced him to “Chipper” Cooper, Sile 
Crane, Billy Piper, and the rest. He noticed in 
particular the three named, as each was charac- 
teristic in his appearance to a distinct degree. 

Cooper was a jolly chap, with mischievous 
eyes and a crooked nose. He had the habit of 
propounding ancient conundrums and cracking 
stale jokes. Crane was a long, lank, awkward 
country boy, who spoke ungrammatically, in a 
drawling, nasal voice. Piper, who was addressed 
as “Sleuth” by his companions, was a washed-out, 
colorless fellow, having an affected manner of 
keenness and sagacity, which were qualities he 
did not seem to possess to any great degree. 

They passed down the gravel walk to the street, 
and crossed over to the gymnasium, which stood 
on the shore of the lake, close behind the fenced 
field that served for both a football and base- 
ball ground. 

The gymnasium was a big, one-story frame 
building, that had once been used as a bowling 
alley in the village. The man who built it and 
attempted to run it had failed to find business 
profitable, and in time it was purchased at a 


BEN STONE 


ii 


low price by Urian Eliot, Roger’s father, who 
moved it to its present location and pledged it 
to the academy as long as the scholars should 
continue to use it as a gymnasium. 

Inside this building Ben was introduced to 
many more boys, a large number of whom had 
prepared or were making ready for football prac- 
tice. There was Charley Tuttle, called “Chub” 
for short, a roly-poly, round-faced, laughing chap, 
who was munching peanuts; Tim Davis, nick- 
named “Spotty,” even more freckled than Ben, 
thin-legged, sly-faced, and minus the two front 
teeth of his upper jaw; Sam Rollins, a big, hulk- 
ing, low-browed fellow, who lost no opportunity 
to bully smaller boys, generally known as 
“Hunk”; Berlin Barker, a cold blond, rather 
good-looking, but proud and distant in his bear- 
ing ; and others who did not impress the new boy 
at all with their personalities. 

Few of these fellows gave Ben any attention 
after nodding or speaking to him when intro- 
duced. They were all busily engaged in discuss- 
ing football matters and prospects. Stone heard 
some of this talk in the big dressing-room, where 


12 


BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


Eliot took him. The captain of the eleven opened 
a locker, from which he drew a lot of football 
clothing. 

“I have my regular suit here, Stone/’ he said ; 
“and here are some other things, a lot of truck 
from which you can pick out a rig, I think. Take 
those pants and that jersey. Here are stockings 
and shoes. My shoes ought to fit you; I’m sure 
the rest of the stuff is all right.” 

Ben started to object, but Roger was in earnest 
and would not listen to objections. As he was 
getting into the outfit provided by Eliot, Ben lent 
his ear to the conversation of the boys. 

“We’ve got to beat Wyndham this year,” said 
one. “She buried us last year, and expects to do 
so again. Why, they have a regular Harvard 
man for a coach over there.” 

“Beat her!” cried another. “You bet we will! 
Wait till we get our coach. I say, captain, how 
are you making it, gathering the needful ?” 

“First rate,” answered Roger, who was lacing 
his sleeveless jacket. “I’ll raise it all right, if I 
have to tackle every man, woman and child in 
town with that paper.” 


BEN STONE 


13 


“That’s the stuff!” whooped Chipper Cooper. 
“Being captain of a great football team, you are 
naturally a good man to tackle people. Rah! 
rah ! rah ! Cooper !” Then he skipped, out of the 
dressing-room, barely escaping a shoe that was 
hurled at him. 

“Bern’s home,” said a boy who was fussing 
over a head harness. “Came on the forenoon 
train with his folks. I saw him as I came by. 
Told him there’d be practice to-night, and he 
said he’d be over.” 

“He’s a corking half-back,” observed a fellow 
who wore shin guards. “As long as we won’t 
have Roger with us next year, I’ll bet anything 
Bern is elected captain of the team.” 

“Come on, fellows,” called Eliot, who had fin- 
ished dressing in amazingly quick time. “Come 
on, Stone. We want to do as much as we can to- 
night.” 

They trooped out of the gymnasium, Ben with 
them. A pleasant feeling of comradery and 
friendliness with these boys was growing upon 
him. He was a fellow who yearned for friends, 
yet, unfortunately, his personality was such that 


14 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

he failed to win them. He was beginning to im- 
bibe the spirit of goodfellowship which seemed 
to prevail among the boys, and he found it more 
than agreeable. 

Fortune had not dealt kindly with him in the 
past, and his nature had been soured by her 
heavy blows. He had come to Oakdale for the 
purpose of getting such an education as it was 
possible for him to obtain, and he had also come 
with the firm determination to keep to himself 
and seek no friends; for in the past he had found 
that such seeking was worse than useless. 

But now circumstances and Roger Eliot had 
drawn him in with these fellows, and he longed to 
be one of them, longed to establish himself on a 
friendly footing with them, so that they would 
laugh and joke with him, and call him by his first 
name, and be free and easy with him, as they 
were among themselves. 

“Why can't I do it?” he asked himself, as he 
came out into the mellow afternoon sunshine. “I 
can ! I will ! They know nothing about the past, 
and they will never know.” 

Never had the world looked more beautiful to 


BEN STONE 


i5 

him than it did as he passed, with his schoolmates 
about him, through the gate and onto the football 
field. Never had the sky seemed so blue and the 
sunshine so glorious. He drank in the clear, 
fresh air with his nostrils, and beneath his feet 
the springy turf was delightfully soft and yet 
pleasantly firm. Before him the door to a new 
and better life seemed flung wide and inviting. 

There were some boys already on the field, 
kicking and passing a football. One of these — 
tall, handsome, supple and graceful — was hailed 
joyously as “Bern.” This chap turned and 
walked to meet them. 

Suddenly Ben Stone stood still in his tracks, 
his face gone pale in an instant, for he was face 
to face with fate and a boy who knew his past. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE PARIAH. 

The other boy saw him and halted, staring at 
him, astonishment and incredulity on his face. In 
that moment he was speechless with the surprise 
of this meeting. 

Ben returned the look, but there was in his 
eyes the expression sometimes seen in those of a 
hunted animal. 

The boys at a distance continued kicking the 
football about and pursuing it, but those nearer 
paused and watched the two lads, seeming to real- 
ize in a moment that something was wrong. 

It was Roger Eliot who broke the silence. 
“What's the matter, Hayden?" he asked. “Do 
you know Stone?" 

The parted lips of Bernard Hayden were sud- 
denly closed and curved in a sneer. When they 
parted again, a short, unpleasant laugh came 
from them. 

16 


THE PARIAH 


1 7 

“Do I know him !” he exclaimed, with the ut- 
most disdain. “I should say I do! What’s he 
doing here?” 

“He’s attending the academy. He looks to me 
like he might have good stuff in him, so I asked 
him out for practice.” 

“Good stuff !” cried Hayden scornfully. “Good 
stuff in that fellow? Well, it’s plain that you 
don’t know him, Eliot !” 

The boys drew nearer and gathered about, 
eager to hear what was to follow, seeing immedi- 
ately that something unusual was transpiring. 

Not a word came from Ben Stone’s lips, but 
the sickly pallor still clung to his uncomely face, 
and in his bosom his heart lay like a leaden 
weight. He had heard the boys in the gym- 
nasium talking of “Bern,” but not for an instant 
had he fancied they were speaking of Bernard 
Hayden, his bitterest enemy, whom he felt had 
brought on him the great trouble and disgrace of 
his life. 

He had come from the gymnasium and onto 
the football field feeling his heart exulting with 
a new-found pleasure in life; and now this boy, 


i8 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

whom he had believed so far away, whom he had 
hoped never again to see, rose before him to push 
aside the happiness almost within his grasp. The 
shock of it had robbed him of his self-assertion 
and reliance, and he felt himself cowering weakly, 
with an overpowering dread upon him. 

Roger Eliot was disturbed, and his curiosity 
was aroused. The other boys were curious, too, 
and they pressed still nearer, that they might not 
miss a word. It was Eliot who asked : 

“How do you happen to know him, Hayden ?” 

“He lived in Farmington, where I came from 
when we moved here — before he ran away,” was 
the answer. 

“Before he ran away?” echoed Roger. 

“Yes; to escape being sent to the reforma- 
tory.” 

Some of the boys muttered, “Oh !” and “Ah !” 
and one of them said, “He looks it !” Those close 
to Stone drew off a bit, as if there was contami- 
nation in the air. Immediately they regarded him 
with disdain and aversion, and he looked in vain 
for one sympathetic face. Evfn Roger Eliot's 


THE PARIAH 


19 

grave features had hardened, and he made no 
effort to conceal his displeasure. 

Sudden rage and desperation seemed to swell 
Ben's heart to the point of bursting. The pallor 
left his face; it flushed, and from crimson it 
turned to purple. He felt a fearful desire to leap 
upon his enemy, throttle him, strike him down, 
trample out his life, and silence him forever. His 
eyes glared, and the expression on his face was 
so terrible that one or two of the boys muttered 
their alarm and drew off yet farther. 

“He’s going to fight!” whispered Spotty Da- 
vis, the words coming with a whistling sound 
through his missing teeth. 

Ben Heard this, and immediately another 
change came upon him. His hands, which had 
been clenched and half-lifted, opened and fell at 
his sides. He bowed his head, and his air was 
that of utter dejection and hopelessness. 

Bern Hayden observed every change, and now 
he laughed shortly, cuttingly. “You see, he 
doesn’t deny it, Eliot,” he said. “He can’t deny 
it. If he did, I could produce proof. You’d need 
only to ask my father.” 


20 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


"I’m sorry to hear this,” said the captain of 
the eleven, although to Ben it seemed there was 
no regret in his voice. “Of course we don't want 
such a fellow on the team.” 

“I should say not! If you took him, you 
couldn't keep me. I wouldn't play on the same 
team with the son of a jail-bird.” 

“What's that?” cried Roger. “Do you mean 
to say his father ” 

“Why, you've all heard of old Abner Stone, 
who was sent to prison for counterfeiting, and 
who was shot while trying to escape.” 

“Was that his father?” 

“That was his father. Oh, he comes of a fine 
family ! And he has the gall to come here among 
decent fellows — to try to attend the academy 
here! Wait till my father hears of this! He'll 
have something to say about it. Father was go- 
ing to send him to the reformatory once, and he 
may do it yet.” 

Roger's mind seemed made up now. “You 
know where my locker is, Stone,” he said. “You 
can leave there the stuff I loaned you.” 

For a moment it seemed that the accused boy 


THE PARIAH 


21 


was about to speak. He lifted his head once 
more and looked around, but the disdainful and 
repellant faces he saw about him checked the 
words, and he turned despairingly away. As he 
walked slowly toward the gate, he heard the 
hateful voice of Bern Hayden saying: 

“Better watch him, Eliot; he may steal those 
things.” 

The world had been bright and beautiful and 
flooded with sunshine a short time before; now 
it was dark and cold and gloomy, and the sun 
was sunk behind a heavy cloud. Even the trees 
outside the gate seemed to shrink from him, and 
the wind came and whispered his shame amid the 
leaves. Like one in a trance, he stumbled into 
the deserted gymnasium and sat alone and 
wretched on Roger Eliot's locker, fumbling 
numbly at the knotted shoestrings. 

“It's all over !” he whispered to himself. 
“There is no chance for me! Pll have to give 
up!” 

After this he sat quite still, staring straight 
ahead before him with eyes that saw nothing. 
Full five minutes he spent in this manner. The 


22 


BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


sound of boyish voices calling faintly one to an- 
other on the football field broke the painful spell. 

They were out there enjoying their sport and 
football practice, while Ben found himself alone, 
shunned, scorned, outcast. He seemed to see 
them gather about Hayden while Bern told the 
whole shameful story of the disgrace of the boy 
he hated. The whole story? — no, Ben knew his 
enemy would not tell it all. There were some 
things — one in particular — he would conveniently 
forget to mention ; but he would not fail to paint 
in blackest colors the character of the lad he de- 
spised. 

Once Ben partly started up, thinking to hasten 
back to the field and defend his reputation against 
the attacks of his enemy; but almost immediately 
he sank down with a groan, well knowing such 
an effort on his part would be worse than use- 
less. He was a stranger in Oakdale, unknown 
and friendless, while Hayden was well known 
there, and apparently popular among the boys. 
To go out there and face Hayden would earn 
for the accused lad only jeers and scorn and 
greater humiliation. 


THE PARIAH 


23 

“It’s all up with me here,” muttered the 
wretched fellow, still fumbling with his shoe- 
strings and making no progress. “I can’t stay 
in the school; I’ll have to leave. If I’d known — if 
I’d even dreamed Hayden was here — I’d never 
come. I’ve never heard anything from Farming- 
ton since the night I ran away. I supposed Hay- 
den was living there still. How does it happen 
that he is here? It was just my miserable for- 
tune to find him here, that’s all ! I was born un- 
der an unlucky star.” 

All his beautiful castles had crumbled to ruins. 
He was bowed beneath the weight of his despair 
and hopelessness. Then, of a sudden, fear seized 
him and held him fast. 

Bern Hayden had told the boys on the football 
field that once his father was ready to send Stone 
to the reformatory, which was true. To escape 
this fate, Ben had fled in the night from Farm- 
ington, the place of his birth. Nearly two years 
had passed, but he believed Lemuel Hayden to 
be a persistent and vindictive man; and, having 
found the fugitive, that man might reattempt to 
carry out his once-baffled purpose. 


24 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

Ben thrust his thick middle finger beneath the 
shoestrings and snapped them with a jerk. He 
almost tore off Eliot’s football clothes and flung 
himself into his own shabby garments. 

“I won’t stay and be sent to the reform school !” 
he panted. “I’d always feel the brand of it upon 
me. If others who did not know me could not 

see the brand, I’d feel it, just as I feel ” He 

lifted his hand, and his fingers touched his muti- 
lated left ear. 

A few moments later he left the gymnasium, 
walking out hurriedly, that feeling of fear still 
accompanying him. Passing the corner of the 
high board fence that surrounded the football 
field, his eyes involuntarily sought the open gate, 
through which he saw for a moment, as he hast- 
ened along, a bunch of boys bent over and packed 
together, saw a sudden movement as the football 
was passed, and then beheld them rush forward 
a short distance. They were practicing certain 
plays and formations. Among them he caught a 
glimpse of the supple figure of Bern Hayden. 

“I’d be there now, only for you!” was Ben’s 
bitter thought, as he hastened down the road. 


THE PARIAH 


25 

Behind him, far beyond Turkey Hill, the black 
clouds lay banked in the west. They had smoth- 
ered the sun, which could show its face no more 
until another day. The woods were dark and 
still, while harsh shadows were creeping nearer 
from the distant pastures where cowbells tin- 
kled. In the grass by the roadside crickets cried 
lonesomely. 

It was not cold, but Ben shivered and drew 
his poor coat about him. Besides the fear of be- 
ing sent to a reformatory, the one thought that 
crushed him was that he was doomed forever to 
be unlike other boys, to have no friends, no com- 
panions — to be a pariah. 


CHAPTER HI. 


ON £ RAY OF LIGHT. 

As he passed, he looked up at the academy, set 
far back in its yard of many maple trees, and 
saw that the great white door was closed, as if 
shut upon him forever. The leaden windows 
stared at him with silent disapproval; a sudden 
wind came and swung the half-open gate to the 
yard, which closed with a click, making it seem 
that an unseen hand had thrust it tight against 
him and held it barred. 

Farther along the street stood a square, old- 
fashioned, story-and-a-half house, with a more 
modern ell and shed adjoining, and a wretched 
sagging barn, that lurched on its foundations, 
and was only kept from toppling farther, and 
possibly falling, by long, crude timber props, set 
against its side. The front yard of the house 
was enclosed by a straggling picket fence. As 
26 


ONE RAY OF LIGHT 


27 


well as the fence, the weather-washed buildings, 
with loose clapboards here and there, stood 
greatly in want of paint and repairs. 

This was the home of Mrs. Jones, a widow 
with three children to support, and here Ben 
had found a bare, scantily-furnished room that 
was within his means. The widow regarded as of 
material assistance in her battle against poverty 
the rent money of seventy-five cents a week, 
which her roomer had agreed to pay in advance. 

For all of her misfortune and the constant 
strain of her toil to keep the wolf from the door 
and a roof over the heads of herself and her 
children, Mrs. Jones was singularly happy and 
cheerful. It is true the wounds of the battle had 
left scars, but they were healed or hidden by this 
strong-hearted woman, who seldom referred to 
them save in a buoyant manner. 

Jimmy Jones, a puny, pale-faced child of eight, 
permanently lamed by hip disease, which made 
one leg shorter than the other, was hanging on 
the rickety gate, as usual, and seemed to be 
waiting Ben’s appearance, hobbling out to meet 
him when he came along the road. 


28 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“You’re awful late,” cried the lame lad, in a 
thin, high-pitched voice, which attested his afflic- 
tion and weakness. “I’ve been watchin’. I saw 
lots of other fellers go by, but then I waited an* 
waited, an’ you didn’t come.” 

A lump rose in Ben’s throat, and into his chilled 
heart crept a faint glow. Here was some one 
who took an interest in him, some one who did 
not regard him with aversion and scorn, even 
though it was only a poor little cripple. 

Jimmy Jones had reminded Ben of his own 
blind brother, Jerry, which had led him to 
seek to make friends with the lame boy, and to 
talk with him in a manner that quickly won the 
confidence of the child. This was his reward; 
in this time when his heart was sore and heavy 
with the belief that he was detested of all the 
world, Jimmy watched and waited for him at the 
gate, and came limping toward him with a cheery 
greeting. 

Ben stooped and caught up the tiny chap, who 
was pitifully light, swinging him to a comfortable 
position on his bent left arm. 

“So you were watching for me, were you, 


ONE RAY OF LIGHT 


29 


Jimmy ?” he said, in a wonderfully soft voice for 
him. “That was fine of you, and I won’t for- 
get it.” 

“Yep, I waited. What made you so late? I 
wanted to tell you, I set that box-trap you fixed 
for me so it would work, an’ what do you think I 
ketched? Bet you can’t guess.” 

“A squirrel,” hazarded Ben. 

“Nope, a cat!” laughed the little fellow, and 
Ben whistled in pretended great surprise. “But 
I let her go. We don’t want no cats; we got 
enough now. But that jest shows the trap will 
work all right now, an’ I’ll have a squirrel next, I 
bet y’u.” 

“Sure you will,” agreed Ben, as he passed 
through the gate and caught a glimpse of the 
buxom widow, who, hearing voices, had hastened 
from the kitchen to peer out. “You’ll be a great 
trapper, Jimmy; not a doubt of it.” 

“Say, if I ketch a squirrel, will you help me 
make a cage for him?” asked Jimmy eagerly. 

“I don’t know,” answered Ben soberly. “If I 
can, I will ; but ” 

“Course you ken! Didn’t you fix the trap? 


3 o BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

I expect you know how to make evTy kind of 
thing' like that.” 

“If I have a chance to make it, I will,” promised 
Ben, as he gently placed the boy on the steps and 
forced to his face a smile that robbed it in a 
remarkable way of its uncomeliness. 

“I don't s’pose we ken begin now?” 

“It's too late to-night, and I'm in a hurry. 
We’ll have to put it off, Jimmy.” 

The smile vanished from his face the moment 
he passed round the corner of the house on his 
way to the back door. “Poor little Jimmy!” he 
thought. “I can’t help you make your squirrel- 
cage, as I’m not going to stay here long enough 
to do it.” 

He ascended the narrow, uncarpeted stairs to 
his small, uncarpeted room over the kitchen, 
where a loose board rattled beneath his feet, and 
the dull light from a single window showed him 
the old-fashioned, low-posted, corded bedstead — 
with its straw tick, coarse sheets and patchwork 
quilt — pushed back beneath the sloping rafters 
of the roof. 

Besides the bed, there was in the room for 


ONE RAY OF LIGHT 


3i 

furniture a broken-backed rocking-chair ; a small 
table with a split top, on which stood a common 
kerosene hand-lamp ; a dingy white earthen 
water pitcher and bowl — the former with a circu- 
lar piece broken out of its nose — sitting on a 
washstand, made of a long box stood on one end, 
with a muslin curtain hanging in front of it. His 
trunk was pushed into a corner of the room oppo- 
site the bed. 

Another part of the room, which served as a 
wardrobe, or was intended for that purpose, was 
set off by a calico curtain. The kitchen chimney 
ran up through one end of the room and served 
to heat it a little — a very little. 

Such a room as this was the best Ben Stone 
could afford to pay for from his meager savings. 
He had been satisfied, and had thought it would 
do him very well; for Mrs. Jones had genially 
assured him that on evenings when the weather 
became colder he would be welcome to sit and 
study by the open fire in the sitting-room, a con- 
cession for which he had been duly grateful. 

But now he would need it no more ; his hopes, 
his plans, his dreams were ended. He sat down 


3 2 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

dumbly on the broken chair, his hard, square 
hands lying helpless in his lap. The shadows of 
the dingy little chamber crept upon him from 
the corners; and the shadows of his life hovered 
thick about him. 

Finally he became aware of the smell of cook- 
ing, which came to him from below, and slowly 
the consciousness that he was hungry grew upon 
him. It did not matter ; he told himself so. There 
was in his heart a greater hunger that might 
never be satisfied. 

It had grown quite dark and he struck a light, 
after which he pulled out his small battered trunk 
and lifted the lid. Then, in a mechanical manner, 
he began packing it with his few belongings. 

At last the craving of his stomach became so 
insistent that he took down a square tin box from 
a shelf behind the calico curtain and opened it 
on the little table. It had been full when he came 
on Monday, but now there was left only the end 
of a stale loaf of bread and a few crumbs of 
cheese. These, however, were better than noth- 
ing, and he was about to make the best use of 


ONE RAY OF LIGHT 


33 

them, when there sounded a step outside his door, 
followed by a knock that gave him a start. 

Had it come so soon? Would they give him 
no more time? Well, then, he must meet them; 
and, with his face gray and set, he opened the 
door. 

With a long, nicked, blue platter, that served as 
a tray, Mrs. Jones stood outside and beamed upon 
him. On the tray were a knife, a fork, pewter 
spoons, and dishes of food, from one of which — 
a steaming bowl — came a most delightful odor. 

“Land sakes!” said the widow. “Them stairs 
is awful in the dark, an' I didn't darst bring a 
lamp ; I hed my han's full. I brought y’u some- 
thin' hot to eat; I hope y'u don't mind. It ain't 
right for a big, growin' youngster like you to be 
alwus a-eatin’ cold vittles, 'specially when he's 
studyin' hard. It's bad f’r the dejesshun; an' 
Joel — my late departed — he alwus had somethin' 
the matter with his dejesshun. It kep' him from 
workin' reg'ler an' kinder sp’iled his prospects, 
poor man! an' left me in straightened circum- 
stances when he passed away. But I ain't a-re- 


34 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

pinin’ or complainin’; there is lots in this world 
a heap wuss off’n I be, an’ I’m satisfied that I’ve 
got a great deal to be thankful f’r. If I’d 
thought, I’d a-brought up somethin’ f’r a table- 
cloth, but mebbe you can git along.” 

She had entered while talking, bringing with 
her, besides the odor of food, another odor of 
soapsuds, which clung to her from her constant 
labor at the washtubs, where, with hard, back- 
aching toil, she uncomplainingly scrubbed out a 
subsistence. For Mrs. Jones took in washings, 
and in Oakdale there was not another whose 
clothes were so white and spotless, and whose 
work was done so faithfully. 

Ben was so taken aback that he stood speech- 
less in the middle of the floor, watching her as 
she arranged the dishes on the table, 
i “There’s some beef stew,” she said, depositing 
the steaming bowl. “An’ here’s hot bread an’ 
butter, an’ some doughnuts I fried to-day. Joel 
alwus uster say my doughnuts was the best he 
ever tasted, an’ he did eat a monst’rus pile of ’em. 
I don’t think they was the best thing in the world 
f’r his dejesshun, either. Mis’ Collins give me 


ONE RAY OF LIGHT 


35 


some apples this mornin’, an’ I made a new apple 
pie. I thought y’u might like to try it, though 
it ain’t very good, an’ I brought y’u up a piece. 
An’ here’s a glass of milk. Jimmy he likes milk, 
an’ I hev to keep it in the house f ’r him. He don’t 
eat much, nohow. I saw you with Jimmy when 
you come in, an’ I noticed you looked kinder tired 
an’ pale, an’ I says to myself, 'What that boy 
needs is a good hot supper.’ Jimmy he’s bin talk- 
in’ about you all day, an’ how y’u fixed his squir- 
rel trap. Now, you jest set right up here, an’ 
fall to.” 

She had arranged the dishes and placed the 
old chair at the table, after which, as had become 
habitual with her on rising from the wash-tub, she 
wiped her hands on her apron and rested them 
on her hips, her arms akimbo. She was smiling 
at him in such a healthy, motherly manner, that 
her whole face seemed to glow like the genial 
face of the sun when it appears after a dark and 
cloudy day. 

To say that Ben was touched, would be to fail 
utterly in expressing the smallest degree of his 
feelings, yet he was a silent, undemonstrative 


36 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

fellow, and now he groped in vain for satisfactory 
words with which to thank the widow. Unat- 
tractive and uncomely he was, beyond question, 
but now his unspeakable gratitude to this kind 
woman so softened and transformed his face 
that, could they have seen him, those who fancied 
they knew him well would have been astonished 
at the change. 

“Mrs. Jones,” he faltered, “I — I — how can 
I ” 

“Now you set right down, an’ let the victuals 
stop y’ur mouth,” she laughed. “You’ve bin 
good to my Jimmy, an’ I don’t forgit nobody 
who’s good to him. I’d asked y’u down to sup- 
per with us, but you’re so kinder backward an’ 
diffident, that I thought p’raps y’u wouldn’t come, 
an’ Mamie said she knowed y’u wouldn’t.” 

Ben felt certain that back of this was Mamie’s 
dislike for him, which something told him had 
developed in her the moment she first saw him. 
She was the older daughter, a strong, healthy 
girl of seventeen, who never helped her mother 
about the work, who dressed in such cheap finery 
as she could obtain by hook or crook, who took 


ONE RAY OF LIGHT 


37 


music lessons on a rented melodeon paid for out 
of her mother’s hard earnings, who felt herself 
to be a lady unfortunately born out of her sphere, 
and who was unquestionably ashamed of her sur- 
viving parent and her brother and sister. 

“Set right down,” persisted Mrs. Jones, as she 
took hold of him and pushed him into the chair. 
“I want to see y’u eatin’. That’s Mamie!” she 
exclaimed, her face lighting with pride, as the 
sound of the melodeon came from a distant part 
of the house. “She’s gittin’ so she can play real 
fine. She don’t seem to keer much f’r books an’ 
study, but I’m sartin she’ll become a great musi- 
cian if she keeps on. If Sadie was only more 
like her; but Sadie she keeps havin’ them chills. 
I think she took ’em of her father, f’r when he 
warn’t ailin’ with his dejesshun he was shakin’ 
with a chill, an’ between one thing an’ t’other, 
he had a hard time of it. It ain’t to be wondered 
at that he died with debt piled up and a mort- 
gage on the place ; but I don’t want you to think 
I’m complainin’, an’ if the good Lord lets me 
keep my health an’ strength, I’ll pay up ev’ry 
dollar somehow. How is the stew?” 


38 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“It — it’s splendid !” declared Ben, who had be- 
gun to eat; and truly nothing had ever before 
seemed to taste so good. 

As he ate, the widow continued to talk in the 
same strain, strong-hearted, hopeful, cheerful, 
for all of the ill-fortune that had attended her, 
and for all of the mighty load on her shoulders. 
He began to perceive that there was something 
heroic in this woman, and his admiration for her 
grew, while in his heart her thoughtful kindness 
had planted the seed of affection. 

The warm bread was white and light and de- 
licious, and somehow the smell of the melting 
butter upon it made him think vaguely of green 
fields and wild flowers and strawberries. Then 
the doughnuts — such doughnuts as they were! 
Ben could well understand how the “late de- 
parted” must have fairly reveled in his wife’s 
doughnuts; and, if such perfect productions of 
the culinary art could produce the result, it was 
fully comprehensible why Mr. Jones’ “dejesshun” 
had been damaged. 

But the pie was the crowning triumph. The 
crust was so flaky that it seemed to melt in the 


ONE RAY OF LIGHT 


39 


boy’s mouth, and the apple filling had a taste and 
flavor that had been imparted to it in some magi- 
cal manner by the genius of the woman who 
seemed to bestow something sweet and whole- 
some upon the very atmosphere about her. 

With her entrance into that room, she had 
brought a ray of light that was growing stronger 
and stronger. He felt it shining upon him; he 
felt it warming his chilled soul and driving the 
shadows from his gloomy heart; he felt it giving 
him new courage to face the world and fight 
against fate — fight until he conquered. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A BRAVE HEART. 

“There,” said the widow, when Ben finished 
eating and sat back, flushing as he realized he had 
left not a morsel before him, “now I know y’u 
feel better. It jest done me good to see you eat. 
It sort of reminded me of the way Joel used to 
stow victuals away. He was a marster hand to 
eat, but it never seemed to do him no good. Even 
when he was in purty good health, which was 
seldom, he never could eat all he wanted to with- 
out feelin’ oppressed arterwards an’ havin’ to 
lay down and rest. He was a good one at rest- 
in’,” she added, with a slight whimsical touch. 

Once more Ben tried to find words to express 
his thanks, and once more Mrs. Jones checked 
him. 

“It ain’t been no trouble,” was her declara- 
tion, “an’ it was wuth a good deal to me to see 
40 


A BRAVE HEART 


4i 

you enjoy it so. What're y'u doin' with your 
trunk pulled out this way?" 

This question reminded him again of his de- 
termination to leave Oakdale directly; and, 
knowing the good woman had regarded the room 
as engaged by him for the time of the fall term 
of school, and also feeling that to leave her thus 
and so deprive her of the rent money she expected 
to receive for weeks to come would be a poor re- 
turn for her kindness, he hesitated in confusion 
and reluctance to tell her the truth. 

“What's the matter?" she asked, noting his 
manner. “Has anything happened? I noticed 
you was pale, an' didn't look jest well, when you 
come in. Is there anything wrong?" 

“Yes, Mrs. Jones," he forced himself to say; 
“everything is wrong with me." 

“At the academy ? Why," she exclaimed, as he 
nodded in answer to her question, “I thought y'u 
passed the exammernation all right? Didn't 
y'u?" 

“It's not that ; but I must leave school just the 
same." 

“Land of goodness! Do tell! It can't be pos- 


42 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

sible!” Mrs. Jones was completely astounded 
and quite shocked. 

“It is not because I have failed in any of the 
requirements of the school,” Ben hastened to say. 
“I can’t explain just why it is, Mrs. Jones. It’s 
a long story, and I don’t wish to tell it. But I 
have an enemy in the school. I didn’t know he 
was here; I saw him for the first time to-day.” 

This explanation did not satisfy her. “Why,” 
she said, “I was thinkin’ y’u told me when y’u 
took this room that you didn’t know a livin’ soul 
in this place.” 

“I did tell you so, and I thought at the time 
that it was the truth ; but since then I have found 
out I was mistaken. There is one fellow in the 
school whom I know — and he knows me ! He will 
make it impossible for me to attend school here.” 

“I don’t see how,” said the widow, greatly 
puzzled. “How can anybody make y’u leave the 
school if y’u don’t want to?” 

“He hates me — he and his father, too. I am 
sure his father is a man of influence here.” 

“Now I don’t want to be curi’s an’ pry inter 
nobody’s affairs,” declared the widow ; “but I do 


A BRAVE HEART 


43 

think you’d better trust me an’ tell me about this 
business. I don’t b’lieve you ever done no great 
wrong or bad thing to make y’u afraid of nobody. 
Anybody that can be good an’ kind to a little 
lame boy, same as you’ve been to my Jimmy, ain’t 
bad.” 

“Perhaps if you knew all about it you would 
change your opinion of me,” said the boy a 
trifle huskily, for he was affected by her confi- 
dence in him. 

She shook her head. “No I wouldn’t. I b’lieve 
you’re makin’ a mountain out of er molehill. 
You’re deescouraged, that’s what’s the matter. 
But somehow you don’t look like a boy that’s 
easy deescouraged an’ quick to give up. Now, 
you jest tell me who your enemy is. You ain’t 
got no mother here to advise y’u, an’ perhaps I 
can help y’u some.” 

Her insistent kindness prevailed upon him, and 
he yielded. 

“My enemy’s name is Bernard Hayden,” he 
said. 

“Land! You don’t tell! Why, he’s the son of 
Lemuel Hayden, who come here an’ bought the 


44 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

limestone quarries over south of th’ lake. He 
ain’t been here a year yet, but he’s built buildin’s 
an’ run a branch railroad from the main road to 
the quarries, an’ set things hummin’ in great 
shape. Next to Urian Eliot, who owns ’most all 
the mill business in the place, he’s said to be the 
richest man in town.” 

“I knew it !” cried Ben ; “I knew he would be 
a man of influence here. I knew him in Farming- 
ton, the place where I was born. Mrs. Jones, if 
I do not leave the school and Oakdale at once, 
Lemuel Hayden will try to make me do so.” 

He could not bring himself to disclose to her 
his fear that Mr. Hayden might again seek to 
commit him to the State Reformatory. That 
secret was the shame of his soul, and when he 
was gone from Oakdale he was certain it would 
be a secret no longer. Already Bern Hayden had 
told the boys on the football field, and in a small 
place gossip of such nature flies quickly. 

“Now let me talk to you a little,” said Mrs. 
Jones, sitting down on the trunk, which threat- 
ened to collapse beneath her weight. “I stick to 
it that I don’t b’lieve you ever done northing 


A BRAVE HEART 


45 


very bad, an’ if you’re poor that ain’t your fault. 
You’ve got a right to have an eddercation, jest 
the same as Lemuel Hayden’s boy has. Jest be- 
cause, mebbe, you got inter some foolish boy 
scrape an’ got this Hayden boy down on you, be 
y’u goin’ to let him keep y’u from gittin’ an edder- 
cation, to make a man of y’u, an’ take you through 
the world? 

“As I said before, you don’t look like a boy to 
be scart or driv easy, an’ I shall be disapp’inted 
in you if y’u are. I ain’t goin’ to pry inter the 
affair; if y’u want to tell me about it some time, 
y’u can. But I’m goin’ to advise y’u to stay right 
here in this school an’ hold your head up. Joel, 
my late departed, he alwus said it warn’t no dis- 
grace to be poor. That passage in the Bible that 
says it’s harder f’r a rich man to enter the king- 
dom of heaven then f’r a camel to pass through 
the eye of a needle, alwus was a great conserla- 
tion to Joel. 

“An’ there’s rich people in this very town that 
should be ashamed to hold their heads up, 
knowin’, as ev’rybody does, how they come by 
their riches; but to-day I’d ruther be a-earnin’ 


46 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

my daily bread by sweatin’ at the wash-tub than 
to be in their shoes an’ have on my mind what 
they must have on their minds. Ev’ry day I 
live I thank the Lord that he’s been so good to 
me an’ let me have so many pleasures an’ enjoy- 
ments.” 

Here she paused a moment to take breath, 
having digressed without intending to do so; 
and once more Ben found himself wondering at 
her splendid courage and the cheerful heart she 
maintained in spite of troubles and afflic- 
tions that might well have crushed and broken 
the spirit of an ordinary woman. She laughed 
in the face of misfortune, and she positively re- 
fused to be trampled on by bitter fate. 

She was right in thinking Ben was not a weak 
boy nor one to be easily frightened ; but had she 
known that over him hung the dark, chilling sha- 
dow of the reformatory, she could not have won- 
dered at the course he had contemplated pursu- 
ing, and she might have hesitated about so freely 
giving him advice. Knowing nothing of this, 
however, she continued to urge him to reconsider 


A BRAVE HEART 


47 

his determination to give up school and leave 
Oakdale. 

“Now promise me that you’ll stay till y’u have 
to leave school,” she entreated. “An’ I don’t 
b’lieve you’ll have to at all.” 

“Mrs. Jones, I’ll think it over,” he said. “I 
have almost decided to take your advice and stay, 
no matter what comes.” 

“That’s what I like to hear !” she laughed, ris- 
ing from the trunk. “Don’t you never back 
down an’ run f’r nobody nor northin’. If Joel 
hed had more of the stand-up-an’-stick-to-it 
sperrit, I’m sartin it would ’a’ been better f’r us 
all — but I ain’t complainin’, I ain’t complainin’.' 

“Goodness! I’ve been spendin’ a lot of time 
here when I’ve jest got loads of things to do be- 
fore I can git a blessed wink of sleep this night. 
I’ve got to go. But you jest make up your mind 
to stick, enermies or no enermies. Good night.” 

She had gathered up the dishes and was go- 
ing. Ben held the lamp, to light her down the 
stairs, calling a grateful good night after her. 

For two hours, at least, he walked the floor 


48 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

of that poor little room, fighting the inward battle 
with himself. Finally he paused, his hands 
clenched and his head thrown back. His square 
jaw seemed squarer and firmer than ever, and 
the determination on his plain face transfigured 
it. 

“I am going to stay, Bernard Hayden !” he 
said quietly, as if speaking face to face with 
his enemy. “Whatever happens, I’ll not show the 
white feather. Do your worst !” He felt better 
when he had fully settled on this resolution. 

Opening his window, he looked out on the 
quiet village that seemed winking sleepily and 
dreamily with its twinkling lights. Even as he 
lifted his eyes toward the overcast sky, the pure 
white moon burst through a widening rift and 
poured its light like a benediction upon the silent 
world. Still with his face upturned, his lips 
moving slightly, the boy knelt at the window, and 
the hush and peace of the night filled his heart. 


CHAPTER V. 


ONE MORE CHANCE. 

Although he was certain he would be com- 
pelled to undergo an unpleasant ordeal at school 
the following day, he did not falter or hesitate. 
With determination in his heart, and his face 
grimly set, he turned in at the gate shortly after 
the ringing of the first bell, and walked up the 
path. 

Several boys in a group near the academy steps 
saw him approaching. He distinctly heard one 
of them say, "Here he comes now”; and then a 
hush fell upon them as they watched him draw 
near. In spite of himself, he could not refrain 
from giving them a resentful and defiant glance. 
In return they looked on him in silent scorn, 
and he felt that not one of them held an atom 
of sympathy in his heart. 

In the coat-room, where he went to hang his 

49 


50 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

hat, he found Roger Eliot, who saw him, but did 
not speak. Ben’s lips parted, but Roger’s man- 
ner chilled him to silence, and he said nothing. 

Bernard Hayden looked in. “Hey, Roger,” he 
called. “I want to see you a moment.” Then 
his eyes fell on Ben, and his proud lips curled a 
bit. 

“All right, Bern,” said Eliot, walking out. 
Hayden took his arm, and they turned toward the 
outer door, talking in low tones. 

As Ben entered the big lower room, a little 
gathering of girls just inside the door suddenly 
stopped chattering, looked at him in a frightened 
way, and hastily drew aside, one or two of them 
uttering low exclamations. His freckled face 
flushed, but it suddenly grew white as he saw a 
tall, spare man, who was talking earnestly with 
Professor Richardson, near the latter’s desk. 

The tall man was Lemuel Hayden, and Ben 
knew what had brought him to the academy that 
morning. 

The principal saw Ben come in, and said some- 
thing that caused Mr. Hayden to turn and look 
toward the unfortunate boy, who, chilled and ap- 


ONE MORE CHANCE 


5i 

prehensive, was seeking his seat. Ben felt those 
cold gray eyes upon him, and suddenly his soul 
seemed to quiver with anger. A sense of injus- 
tice and wrong seized him, filling him with a de- 
sire to confront his enemies and defend himself 
as best he could. 

“No use !” an inward voice seemed to whisper. 
“They are too powerful. Who will believe your 
word against that of Lemuel Hayden ?” 

Mr. Hayden was a man who had placed fifty 
years of his life behind him, and his appearance 
and manner seemed to indicate that during the 
greater number of those years his stern will had 
dominated the acts and enforced the obedience 
of nearly every one who chance to have dealings 
with him. His shaved upper lip exposed a firm, 
hard, almost cruel, mouth. His carefully trimmed 
whiskers, like his hair, were liberally besprinkled 
with gray. 

“That’s the boy,” Ben distinctly heard him 
say. Then Prof. Richardson said something in 
a low voice, and once more they fell to talking 
earnestly in subdued tones. 

Ben sat down and waited, feeling certain that 


52 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

the very worst must happen. After a few mo- 
ments, he heard the principal say: 

“I shall give the matter my immediate atten- 
tion, Mr. Hayden. It is very unfortunate, and I 
may be compelled to take your advice.” 

The second bell was ringing as Lemuel Hayden 
passed down the center aisle and out of the acad- 
emy. In passing, he looked at Ben, and his lips 
were pressed together above the edge of his whis- 
kers until his mouth formed a thin, hard line. 

Boys and girls came trooping in and sought 
their seats. Ben paid no attention to any of 
them, although he was sure that many eyed him 
closely. His deskmate, however, a little chap by 
the name of Walker, found an opportunity amid 
the bustle and movement of the scholars to lean 
toward Ben and whisper : 

“My ! I bet you’re going to get it ! Look out !” 

Ben paid no heed. His nerves were strained, 
and he waited in grim silence the coming crash, 
fully believing it was Prof. Richardson’s purpose 
to open the forenoon session in the regular man- 
ner and then denounce him before the assembled 
scholars. 


ONE MORE CHANCE 


53 

When the opening exercises were over, Ben’s 
heart strained and quivered in the conviction that 
the trying moment had come. He was surprised 
and temporarily relieved when the first class was 
called in regular order and a few of the lower 
room scholars left to join a class in the upper 
room. 

After a short time, however, he concluded that 
the time of trial had simply been postponed, and 
this conviction brought upon him a sort of slow 
torture that was hard to bear. He tried to study, 
but could not fix his mind on his book. His eyes 
might stare dully at the page, and his lips might 
keep repeating words printed there, but his 
thoughts persistently dwelt on the desperate 
strait into which he had fallen, and he speculated 
on the probable course that would be pursued 
by Lemuel Hayden. 

His fancy pictured Mr. Hayden as hastening 
from the academy to consult with the town 
authorities and inform them about the danger- 
ous character who had boldly entered the village 
for the purpose of attending school there. Ben 
felt that Mr. Hayden’s words would create a 


54 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

profound impression, and he was certain the man 
would then demand that the “dangerous charac- 
ter” of whom he spoke should be taken into cus- 
tody at once and sent without delay to the State 
Reformatory. 

The tortured lad further pictured Mr. Hayden 
and the authorities as making out certain papers 
and placing them in the hands of the village con- 
stable, urging him at the same time to do his 
duty without delay. 

The boy fell to listening for the footsteps of 
Mr. Hayden and the constable at the door. Once 
he started and turned, but the door opened to 
admit returning scholars who had been to a reci- 
tation in the upper room. 

Suddenly Ben heard his name sharply called 
by the principal, and he started to his feet with 
the conviction that at last the moment had ar- 
rived and that Prof. Richardson was about to 
arraign him before the school. Instead of that, 
his class in arithmetic had been called and was 
already on the front seats. He hastened down 
the aisle and joined the class. 

Knowing he was wholly unprepared in the 


ONE MORE CHANCE 


55 

day's lesson, he inwardly prayed that he might 
not be called to the blackboard. He was chosen, 
however, as one of five pupils to work problems 
on the board and demonstrate them to the rest 
of the class. 

When the others had finished and taken their 
seats, he still remained before the board, chalk in 
hand, an unprepossessing figure as he frowned 
hopelessly over his task. At last, seeing the boy 
had failed, the principal told him to be seated. 
Although his face was burning and he was 
shamed by his failure, he could not repress a 
glance of defiance at some of his slyly-grinning 
classmates. 

Prof. Richardson did not reprove him, but 
dismissed him with the rest of the class when 
the successful ones had demonstrated their prob- 
lems. 

“He thinks I won't be here much longer, and 
so it's not worth while bothering with me," con- 
cluded Ben. 

The forenoon wore away. At intermission 
Ben did not leave his seat, not caring to mingle 


56 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

with the boys and give them an opportunity to 
insult or anger him. 

As the mid-day hour approached, the boy's 
suspense grew greater, for he was still confident 
that he was not to escape. Thinking Prof. Rich- 
ardson meant to speak of his case before dismiss- 
ing the scholars at noon, his dread of the ordeal 
grew as the short hand of the clock behind the 
desk drew nearer and nearer to twelve. 

Finally the hands of the clock stood upright, 
one over the other. Prof. Richardson closed his 
desk and locked it, after which he turned and 
faced the scholars. His eyes found Ben Stone 
and stopped. The time had come ! 

“Stone,” said the professor quietly, without a 
trace of harshness or reproof, “I should like to 
have you remain after the others are dismissed. 
I wish to speak with you.” 

For a moment a feeling of relief flashed over 
Ben like an electric shock. So it was to be done 
privately, and not before the whole school! He 
was grateful for that much consideration for his 
feelings. When they were by themselves in that 
big, empty room, with no one else to hear, the 


ONE MORE CHANCE 


57 


professor would tell him quietly but firmly that 
it was quite out of the question to permit a boy of 
his bad reputation to remain in the school. He 
would be directed to leave the academy, never to 
return. 

With many backward glances at the lad who 
remained behind, the scholars filed out. The 
door had closed behind the last of them when 
Ben was told to come down to the principal’s 
desk. There was no accusation, nothing but kind- 
ness, in Prof. Richardson’s eyes, as he looked on 
the boy who stood before him. 

“Stone,” he said, in that same self-contained 
tone of voice, “I find it necessary to speak of an 
unpleasant matter relative to yourself. You came 
here to this school as a stranger, and it has ever 
been my practice to judge a boy by his acts and 
to estimate his character by what he proves him- 
self to be. This is the course I should have pur- 
sued in your case, but this morning there came to 
me a gentleman who is well known in this town 
and highly respected, who knew you well before 
settling in Oakdale, and he told me many dis- 
agreeable things about you. I cannot doubt that 


58 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

he spoke the truth. He seemed to regard you 
as a rather dangerous and vicious character, and 
he expressed a belief that it was not proper for 
you to associate with the scholars here. I am not, 
however, one who thinks there is no chance of 
reform for a boy or man who has done wrong, 
and I think it is a fatal mistake to turn a cold 
shoulder on the repentant wrongdoer. I have 
given some thought to this matter, Stone, and I 
have decided to give you a chance, just the same 
as any other boy, to prove yourself here at this 
school. ,, 

Ben was quivering from head to feet. In his 
heart new hope and new life leaped. Still in 
some doubt, he faltered: 

“Then you — you are not going to — to expel me, 
sir?” 

“Not until I am satisfied that you deserve it; 
not until by some act that comes under my ob- 
servation you convince me that you are not earn- 
estly seeking to reform — that you are not worthy 
to remain in the school.” 

“Oh, thank you — thank you !” choked the boy, 
and that was all he could say. His voice broke, 


ONE MORE CHANCE 


59 

and he saw the kind face of the professor through 
a blurring mist. 

“I hope I am not making a mistake in this, 
Stone,” that same soothing voice went on. “I 
hope you will try to prove to me that I am not.” 

“I will, sir — I will!” Ben eagerly promised. 

“That is all I ask of you. If you have a vicious 
disposition, try to overcome it; if you have a 
violent temper, seek to control it. Learn to be 
your own master, which is the great lesson that 
every one must learn in case he wishes to become 
honored and respected and successful in life. 
Prove to every one that you regret any mistakes 
of your past, and that you may be thoroughly 
trusted in the future. In this manner you will 
rise above your mistakes and above yourself. I 
don't think I need say anything more to you, but 
remember that I shall watch you with anxiety and 
with hope. That is all.” 

Ben felt that he could have seized the profes- 
sor's hand and kissed it, but he knew he would 
quite break down, and the thought of such weak- 
ness shamed him. All he did was to again huskily 
exclaim : 


6o BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“Thank you, sir — thank you !” 

The September air seemed again filled with 
mellow sweetness as he hurried in happy relief 
from the academy. With the touch of a passing 
breeze, the maple trees of the yard waved their 
hands gayly to him, and in the distance beyond 
the football field Lake Woodrim dimpled and 
laughed in the golden sunshine. 

“One chance more!” he exultantly murmured. 
“One chance more, and I’ll make the most of it.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


INTO THE SHADOWS. 

As he hastened from the yard and turned down 
the street, he saw several boys assembled beneath 
a tree in a fence-corner near the roadside. They 
were laughing loudly at something that was tak- 
ing place there. On the outskirts of the little 
gathering he saw the thin-legged figure of Spotty 
Davis, who was smoking a cigarette and grinning 
as he peered over the heads of those in front of 
him. 

Ben would have hurried past, but he suddenly 
stopped in his tracks, checked by the shrill, pro- 
testing voice of a child in distress. At the sound 
of that voice, he turned quickly toward the boys 
beneath the tree and forced his way among them, 
pushing some of them unceremoniously aside. 

What he saw caused a fierce look to come to 
his face and his freckled cheeks to flush; for in 
61 


6 2 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


the midst of the group was Hunk Rollins, a look 
of vicious pleasure on his face, holding little 
Jimmy Jones by the ear, which he was twisting 
with brutal pleasure, showing his ugly teeth as he 
laughed at the tortured lad’s cries and pleadings. 

“Oh, that don’t hurt any !” the bullying fellow 
declared, as he gave another twist. “What 
makes ye holler? It’s only fun, and you’ll like 
it when you get used to it.” 

A moment later Ben reached the spot and sent 
the tormentor reeling with a savage thrust, at the 
same time snatching the sobbing cripple from 
him. 

“You miserable coward!” he cried, hoarse with 
anger. 

The cripple gave a cry and clung to him. 
“Don’t let him hurt me any more, Ben!” he 
pleaded. “He’s pulled my hair an’ my nose, an’ 
’most twisted my ear off. I was cornin’ to meet 
you to tell you I ketched a squirrel in the trap.” 

In sullen silence the watching boys had fallen 
back. Ben was facing Hunk Rollins, and in his 
eyes there was a look that made the bully hesi- 
tate. 


INTO THE SHADOWS 63 

“Now you’ll see a fight,” said one of the group, 
in an awed tone. “Hunk will give it to him.” 

Rollins had been astonished, but he knew what 
was expected of him, and he began to bluster 
fiercely, taking a step toward Stone, who did 
not retreat or move. 

“Who are you calling a coward ? Who are you 
pushing?” snarled the low-browed chap, scowl- 
ing his blackest, and assuming his fiercest aspect, 
his huge hands clenched. 

“You!” was the prompt answer. “No one 
but a coward and a brute would hurt a harmless 
little cripple.” 

“You take care!” raged Hunk. “I won’t have 
you calling me names ! I want you to understand 
that, too. Who are you? You’re nothing but 
the son of a jail-bird !” 

“Go for him, Hunk !” urged Spotty Davis, his 
voice making a whistling sound through the space 
left by his missing teeth. “Soak him a good 
one!” 

“I’ll soak him if he ever puts his hands on me 
again,” declared Rollins, who was desirous of 
maintaining his reputation, yet hesitated before 


64 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

that dangerous look on Stone’s face. “I don’t 
care to fight with no low fellow like him.” 

“Hunk’s scared of him,” cried one of the boys, 
and then the others groaned in derision. 

Stung by this, the bully roared, “I’ll show 
you!” and made a jump and a swinging blow at 
Ben. His arm was knocked aside, and Stone’s 
heavy fist landed with terrible violence on his 
chin, sending him to the ground in a twinkling. 

The boys uttered exclamations of astonish- 
ment. 

With his fists clenched and his uncomely face 
awesome to look upon, Ben Stone took one step 
and stood over Rollins, waiting for him to rise. 
It was thus that Prof. Richardson saw them as he 
pushed through the gathering of boys. Without 
pausing, he placed himself between them, and 
turned on Ben. 

“It has not taken you very long, Stone,” he 
said, in a manner that made Ben shrink and 
shiver, “to demonstrate beyond question that 
what Mr. Hayden told me about you is true. I 
told you it is my custom to judge every boy by 
his acts and by what he proves himself to be. 


INTO THE SHADOWS 65 

For all of your apparently sincere promise to me 
a short time ago, you have thus quickly shown 
your true character, and I shall act on what I 
have seen.” 

“He hit me, sir,” Hunk hastened to explain, 
having risen to his feet. “He came right in here 
and pushed me, and then he hit me.” 

Ben opened his lips to justify himself. “Pro- 
fessor, if you’ll let me explain ” 

“I need no explanations; I have seen quite 
enough to satisfy me,” declared the professor 
coldly. “You have not reformed since the time 
when you made a vicious and brutal assault on 
Bernard Hayden.” 

Involuntarily, Ben lifted an unsteady hand to 
his mutilated ear, as if that could somehow jus- 
tify him for what had happened. His face was 
ashen, and the hopeless look of desperation was 
again in his eyes. 

Upon the appearance of Prof. Richardson, 
many of the boys had lost no time in hurrying 
away ; the others he now told to go home, at the 
same time turning his back on Ben. The miser- 
able lad stood there and watched them depart, 


66 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


the academy principal walking with Rollins, who, 
in his own manner and to his own justification, 
was relating what had taken place beneath the 
tree. 

As Ben stood thus gazing after them, he felt 
a hand touch his, and heard the voice of little 
Jimmy at his side. 

“I'm sorry,” said the lame boy, “I'm awfully 
sorry if I got you into any trouble, Ben.” 

“You're not to blame,” was the husky assur- 
ance. 

“Mebbe I hadn't oughter come, but I wanted to 
tell y'u 'bout the squirrel I ketched. He's jest 
the handsomest feller ! Hunk Rollins he's alwus 
plaguin' an' hurtin' me when he gets a chance. 
My ! but you did hit him hard !” 

“Not half as hard as he ought to be hit !” ex- 
claimed Ben, with such savageness that the lame 
lad was frightened. 

With Jimmy clinging to his hand, they walked 
down the road together. The little cripple tried 
to cheer his companion by saying: 

“You warn't to blame; why didn't you say you 
warn't?” 


INTO THE SHADOWS 67 

“What good would it have done!’’ cried Ben 
bitterly. “The professor wouldn’t listen to me. 
I tried to tell him, but he stopped me. Every- 
thing and every one is against me, Jimmy. I 
have no friends and no chance.” 

“I’m your friend,” protested the limping lad. 
“I think you’re jest the best feller I ever knew.” 

To Jimmy’s surprise, Ben caught him up in 
his strong arms and squeezed him, laughing with 
a choking sound that was half a sob : 

“I forgot you.” 

“I know I don’t ’mount to much,” said the 
cripple, as he was lifted to Stone’s shoulder and 
carried there; “but I like you jest the same. I 
want you to see my squirrel. I’ve got him in an 
old bird cage. I’m goin’ to make a reg’ler cage 
for him, an’ I thought p’raps you’d show me how 
an’ help me some.” 

Ben spent the greater part of the noon hour 
in the woodshed with little Jimmy, admiring the 
squirrel and explaining how a cage might be 
made. Mrs. Jones heard them talking and laugh- 
ing, and peered out at them, her face beaming 
as she wiped her hands on her apron. 


68 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“Land!” she smiled; “Jimmy’s ’most crazy 
over that squirrel. You don’t s’pose it’ll die, do 
y’u?” 

“Not if it can have a big cage with plenty of 
room to exercise,” answered Ben. “It’s a young 
one, and it seems to be getting tame already.” 

“Well, I’m glad. Jimmy he’s jest silly over 
pets. But I tell him it ain’t right to keep the 
squirrel alwus shut up, an’ that he’d better let 
him go bimeby. Goodness ! I can’t waste my time 
this way. I’ve got my han’s full to-day.” 

Then she disappeared. 

“Mother she thinks it ain’t jest right to keep 
a squirrel in a cage,” said the lame boy, with a 
slight cloud on his face. “What ju think, Ben?” 

“Well,” said Ben, “it’s this way, Jimmy: Yes- 
terday this little squirrel was frolicking in the 
woods, running up and down the trees and over 
the ground, playing with other squirrels and en- 
joying the open air and the sunshine. Now he’s 
confined in a cramped cage here in this dark old 
woodshed, taken from his companions and shut 
off from the sunshine and the big beautiful 
woods. Try to put yourself in his place, Jimmy. 


INTO THE SHADOWS 69 
How would you like it if a great giant came 
along, captured you, carried you off where you 
could not see your mother or your friends, and 
shut you up in a narrow dungeon with iron bars ?” 

Jimmy sat quite still, watching the little captive 
vainly nosing at the wires in search of an open- 
ing by which he might get out. As he watched, 
the squirrel faced him and sat up straight, its 
beautiful tail erect, its tiny forefeet held limp. 

“Oh, see, Ben — see!” whispered the lame lad. 
“He’s beggin’ jest like a dog; he’s askin’ me to 
let him go. I couldn’t keep him after that. I 
sha’n’t want no cage f’r him, Ben; I’m goin’ to 
let him go back to the woods to find the other 
squirrels he uster play with.” 

Together they carried the cage out into the 
old grove back of the house, where Jimmy himself 
opened the door. For a moment or two the cap- 
tive shrank back in doubt, but suddenly he 
whisked through the door and darted up a tree. 
Perched on a limb, he uttered a joyful, chittering 
cry. 

“He’s laughing !” cried the lame boy, clapping 


70 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

his hands. “See how happy he is, Ben! Fm 
awful glad I didn't keep him." 

The first bell was ringing as Ben turned toward 
the academy. 

“Why, you ain’t had no dinner !’’ called Jimmy, 
suddenly aware of that fact. 

“I didn’t want any," truthfully declared Ben, 
as he vaulted a fence. “So long, Jimmy." He 
waved his hand and hurried on. 

He did not return to the academy, however. 
As the second bell began ringing, he paused on 
the edge of the deep, dark woods, which lay to 
the north of Turkey Hill. Looking back, he 
could see the academy, the lake and the village. 
The sound of the bell, mellowed by the distance, 
seemed full of sadness and disappointment. 
When it ceased, he turned and strode on, and the 
shadowy woods swallowed him. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A DESPERATE: ENCOUNTER. 

All that long, silent afternoon, he wandered 
through the woods, the fields and the meadows. 
The cool shadows of the forest enfolded him, and 
the balsamic fragrance of spruce and pine and 
juniper soothed his troubled spirit. He sat on a 
decaying log, listening to the chatter of a squirrel, 
and hearing the occasional soft pat of the first- 
falling acorns. He noted the spots where Jack 
Frost had thus early begun his work of painting 
the leaves pink and crimson and gold. In a 
thicket he saw the scarlet gleam of hawthorne 
berries. 

Beside Silver Brook, which ran down through 
the border of the woods, he paused to listen to 
the tinkle and gurgle of the water. There the 
blackberried moonseed clambered over the un- 
derbrush. When he crossed the brook and pushed 
7i 


72 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

on through this undergrowth, his feet and ankles 
were wet by water spilled from many hooded 
pitcher plants. Near the edge of the woods, with 
a sudden booming whir of wings that made his 
heart jump, a partridge flew up and went diving 
away into the deeper forest. 

At the border of the woods, where meadow 
and marshland began, he discovered clusters of 
pale-blue asters mingling with masses of rose- 
purple blazing star. Before him he sent scurry- 
ing a flight of robins, driven from their feast 
of pigeon berries amid the wine-stained pokeweed 
leaves. 

The sun leaned low to the west and the day 
drew toward a peaceful close. He seemed to for- 
get for brief periods his misfortune and wretch- 
edness, but he could not put his bitter thoughts 
aside for long, and whenever he tried to do so, 
they simply slunk in the background, to come 
swarming upon him again at the first oppor- 
tunity. At best, it was a wretched afternoon he 
spent with them. 

He had escaped facing disgrace and expulsion 
by declining to return to the academy that after- 


A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER 73 

noon; but his trunk and clothes were at Mrs. 
Jones’ and he must get them, which led him, as 
night approached, to turn back toward the village. 

On the southern slope of Turkey Hill he lin- 
gered, with the valley and the village below him. 
The sunshine gilded a church spire amid the 
oaks, and in its yard of maples he could see the 
roof and belfry of the academy. 

The afternoon session was over by this time, 
and from that elevation Ben could look down on 
the fenced football field, where he beheld the 
boys already at practice. Once the still 
air brought their voices to him even from that 
distance. His heart swelled with a sense of in- 
justice and wrong, until it seemed to fill his chest 
in a stifling manner. 

Of course Bern Hayden was there with the 
boys who had so joyously hailed his return to 
Oakdale. But for Hayden he might also be there 
taking part in the practice, enjoying that for 
which his heart hungered, the friendly compan- 
ionship of other lads. 

The shadows were thickening and night was 
at hand as he crossed the fields and reached the 


74 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

road to the north of the academy. He hoped to 
avoid observation and reach Mrs. Jones’ house 
without encountering any one who knew him. 

As he quickened his steps, he suddenly realized 
that he must pass the wretched little tumble-down 
home of Tige Fletcher, a dirty, crabbed, old re- 
cluse, who hated boys because he had been taunt- 
ed and tormented by them, and who kept two 
fierce dogs, which were regarded as vicious and 
dangerous. Beyond Fletcher’s house there was 
a footpath from High street to the academy yard, 
and this was the course Ben wished to follow. 

Knowing he might be set upon by the dogs, he 
looked about for a weapon of defense, finally 
discovering a thick, heavy, hardwood cudgel, 
about three feet in length. With this in his 
hand, he strode on, grimly determined to give 
the dogs more than they were looking for if they 
attacked him. 

He was quite near the house when, on the 
opposite side, there suddenly burst forth a great 
uproar of barking, with which there immediately 
mingled a shrill scream of terror. 

Unhesitatingly, Ben dashed forward, instinc- 


A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER 75 

tively gripping his stout cudgel and holding it 
ready for use. The barking and the cry of fear 
had told him some one was in danger from Old 
Tige’s dogs. 

Immediately on passing the corner of the 
house, he saw what was happening, and the spec- 
tacle brought his heart into his mouth. The 
dogs had rushed at a little girl, who, driven up 
against the fence, faced them with her blue eyes 
full of terror, and tried to drive them back by 
striking at them with her helpless hands. 

Giving a shout to check the dogs and distract 
their attention from the girl, Ben rushed straight 
on. He saw one of the dogs leap against the 
child and knock her down. Then he was within 
reach, and he gave the animal a fearful blow 
with the club as it was snapping at the girl's 
throat. 

A moment later Ben found he had his hands 
full in defending himself, for the second dog, 
a huge brindle mastiff, having a protruding un- 
der-jaw and reddish eyes, leaped at his throat, his 
teeth gleaming. By a quick, side-stepping move- 
ment, the boy escaped, and with all his strength 


76 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

he struck the dog, knocking it down, and sending 
it rolling for a moment on the ground. 

The first dog was a mongrel, but it was 
scarcely less ferocious and dangerous than the 
mastiff. Although Ben had seemed to strike hard 
enough to break the creature’s ribs, it recovered, 
and came at him, even as the mastiff was sent 
rolling. The yellow hair on the back of the dog’s 
neck bristled, and its eyes were filled with a fear- 
ful glare of rage. 

The boy was not given time to swing his club 
for another telling blow, but was compelled to 
dodge as the dog sprang from the ground. His 
foot slipped a little, and he flung up his left 
arm as a shield. The teeth of the dog barely 
missed his elbow. 

Quickly though Ben recovered and whirled, he 
was none too soon. This time, however, the mon- 
grel was met by a well-directed blow on the nose, 
and the terrible pain of it took all the fight out 
of him and sent him slinking and howling away, 
with his tail curled between his legs. 

The mastiff was not disposed of so quickly; 
for, although it had been knocked down by the 



THE BOY SET HIS TEETH AND DID HIS BEST TO MAKE EVERY 

BLOW COUNT. — PAGE 77. 



A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER 77 

first blow it received, it uttered a snarling roar, 
and again flung itself at the boy the moment it 
could regain its feet. 

Against the fence the white-faced little girl 
crouched, uttering wild cries of fear, as, with 
terror-filled eyes, she watched the desperate en- 
counter. 

Knowing he would be torn, mangled, perhaps 
killed, if the teeth of the great dog ever fastened 
upon him, Ben fought for his very life. Three 
times he beat the creature down with his club, 
but for all this punishment the rage and fury of 
the animal increased, and it continued to return 
to the attack with vicious recklessness. 

The boy set his teeth and did his best to make 
every blow count. Had his courage and nerve 
failed him for a moment, he must have been 
seized and dragged down by the frothing dog. 
He kept his wits about him, and his brain at 
work. Repeatedly he tried to hit the mastiff on 
the nose in the same manner as he had struck 
the mongrel, but for some moments, which seemed 
like hours, every attempt failed. 

Once Ben's heart leaped into his mouth, as his 


78 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

foot slipped again, but he recovered himself on 
the instant and was fully prepared for the big 
dog’s next charge. 

At last he succeeded in delivering the blow on 
which he believed everything depended. Hit 
fairly on the nose by that club, which was wielded 
by a muscular young arm, the raging beast was 
checked and paralyzed for a moment. 

Seizing the opportunity, Ben advanced and 
struck again, throwing into the effort every par- 
ticle of strength and energy he could command. 
The dog dropped to the ground and lay still, its 
muscles twitching and its limbs stiffening; for 
that final blow had broken its neck. 

Quivering and panting with the excitement and 
exertion of the struggle, Ben stood looking down 
at the body of the dog, giving no heed for the 
moment to the hoarse cries of rage which issued 
from the lips of Old Tige Fletcher, who was 
hobbling toward him with his stiff leg. Nor did 
he observe three boys who were coming along 
the path from the academy at a run, having been 
led to quicken their steps by the cries of the girl 
and the barking of the dogs. 


A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER 79 

Of the trio Roger Eliot was in the lead, and 
he was running fast, the sound of the fright- 
ened girl's screams having filled him with the 
greatest alarm. He was followed closely by Chip- 
per Cooper, while Chub Tuttle brought up the 
rear, panting like a porpoise, and scattering pea- 
nuts from his pockets at every jump. 

These boys came in sight soon enough to wit- 
ness the end of the encounter between Stone and 
the huge mastiff. They saw the dog beaten back 
several times, and Roger uttered a husky excla- 
mation of satisfaction when Ben finally finished 
the fierce brute with a blow that left it quivering 
on the ground. 

By that time Eliot’s eyes had discovered the 
girl as she crouched and cowered against the 
fence, and he knew instantly that it was in de- 
fense of her that Ben had faced and fought 
Fletcher’s dreaded dogs. 

Even before reaching that point Roger’s heart 
had been filled with the greatest alarm and anx- 
iety by the sounds coming to his ears ; for he be- 
lieved he recognized the voice of the child whose 
terrified cries mingled with the savage barking 


8o BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


and snarling of the dogs. His little sister had a 
habit of meeting him on his way home after foot- 
ball practice, and he had warned her not to come 
too far on account of the danger of being at- 
tacked by Fletcher’s dogs. That his fear had been 
well-founded he saw the moment he discovered 
the child huddled against the fence, as it was, 
indeed, his sister. 

“Amy!” he chokingly cried. 

Reaching her, he caught her up and held her 
sobbing on his breast, while she clung to his neck 
with her trembling arms. 

“Drat ye!” snarled Tige Fletcher, his face con- 
torted with rage as he stumped forward, shaking 
his crooked cane at Ben Stone. “What hev ye 
done to my dorg? You’ve killed him !” 

“I think I have,” was the undaunted answer ; 
“at any rate, I meant to kill him.” 

“I’ll hev ye ’rested!” shrilled the recluse. 
“That dorg was wuth a hundrud dollars, an’ I’ll 
make ye pay fer him, ur I’ll put ye in jail.” 

Roger Eliot turned indignantly on the irate 
man. 

“You’ll be lucky, Mr. Fletcher, if you escape 


A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER 81 


being arrested and fined yourself,” he declared. 
“You knew your dogs were vicious, and you have 
been notified by the authorities to chain them up 
and never to let them loose unless they were muz- 
zled. You’ll be fortunate to get off simply with 
the loss of a dog; my father is pretty sure to take 
this matter up when he hears what has happened. 

If your wretched dogs had bitten my sister ” 

Roger stopped, unable to find words to express 
himself. 

The old man continued to splutter and snarl 
and flourish his cane, upon which Tuttle and 
Cooper made a pretense of skurrying around in 
great haste for rocks to pelt him with, and he 
beat a hasty retreat toward his wretched hovel'. 

“Don’t stone him, fellows,” advised Roger. 
“Let’s not give him a chance to say truthfully 
that we did that.” 

“We oughter soak him,” said Chub, his round 
face expressive of the greatest indignation. “A 
man who keeps such ugly curs around him de- 
serves to be soaked. Anyhow,” he added, poking 
the limp body of the mastiff, “there’s one dog 
gone.” 


82 


BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“Ain’t it a dog-gone shame!” chuckled Chip- 
per, seizing the opportunity to make a pun. 

Roger turned to Ben. 

“Stone,” he said, in his kindly yet unemotional 
way, “I can’t thank you enough for your brave 
defense of my sister. How did it happen?” 

Ben explained, telling how he had heard the 
barking of the dogs and the screams of Amy 
Eliot as chance led him to be passing Fletcher’s 
hut, whereupon he ran as quickly as possible to 
her assistance. 

“It was a nervy thing to do,” nodded Roger, 
“and you may be sure I won’t forget it. I saw 
some of it, and the way you beat that big dog 
off and finished him was splendid.” 

“Say, wasn’t it great !” chimed in Chub, actual 
admiration in his eyes as he surveyed Ben, “By 
jolly! you’re a dandy, Stone! Ain’t many fellers 
could have done it.” 

“I won’t forget it,” repeated Roger, holding 
out his hand. 

Ben flushed, hesitated, then accepted the prof- 
fered hand, receiving a hearty, thankful grip 
from Eliot. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A RIFT. 

Ben came down quietly through the grove be- 
hind the house, slipped round to the ell door and 
ascended to his bare room without being ob- 
served by any one about the place. It did not take 
him long again to draw out his battered trunk 
and pack it with his few possessions. 

He then found before him an unpleasant duty 
from which he shrank; Mrs. Jones must again 
be told that he was going away. 

It is not remarkable that he hesitated over this, 
or that as the shadows once more thickened in 
that room he sat for a long time on his trunk, 
his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, 
gazing blankly at the one leaden window. 

To his ears came the sound of wheels, which 
seemed to stop before the house. A few minutes 
later Jimmy's voice called from the foot of the 
stairs : 


83 


84 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“Ben, Ben, you up there ?" 

He opened the door. “What's wanted, Jimmy ?" 

“I didn't know you was home," said the lame 
boy, in some surprise. “I didn't see y'u come, 
an' I was watchin'. They's somebody down here 
wants to see y'u." 

“Wants to see me?" he exclaimed, unable to 
repress a feeling of apprehension. “Who is it?" 

“It's Roger Eliot," answered the boy below, 
“an' he's jest got a dandy hoss an' carriage. He 
said you must be here, but I didn't think y'u was." 

“Roger Eliot!" muttered Ben, descending at 
once. “What can he want?" 

“I dunno," admitted Jimmy, limping after him 
as he left the house. “He jest tole me to tell y'u 
to come out." 

“Hello, Stone !" called Roger from the carriage 
in front of the gate. “Come, get in here and 
take a little drive with me." 

Greatly surprised by this invitation, Ben hesi- 
tated until the boy in the carriage repeated his 
words urgently, but with a touch of that com- 
mand which had made him a leader among the 


A RIFT 85 

boys of the village and captain of the football 
team. 

“I — I haven't much time," faltered Stone ; but 
he wonderingly took his place at Roger's side and 
was whirled away, regretfully watched by Jimmy, 
who hung on the sagging gate and stared after 
the carriage until it turned the corner under 
the street-light opposite the post office. 

In front of the post office Chub Tuttle was 
munching peanuts and telling Sile Crane and 
Sleuth Piper of the wonderful manner in which 
Stone had defended Amy Eliot from Tige Fletch- 
er's dogs. He had reached the most thrilling 
portion of the tale when the carriage containing 
Roger and Ben turned the corner. 

“Jinks!" exclaimed Crane. “There he is naow 
with Roger. Where d'you s'pose they're going?" 

“The mystery is easily solved," declared Piper 
at once. “My deduction of the case is as follows : 
Eliot has a sister; this sister is attacked by the 
vicious dogs of one Fletcher ; Stone rushes to her 
defense ; he beats off the said dogs and kills one 
of them; the before-mentioned Eliot takes his be- 
fore-mentioned sister home ; he relates to his folks 


86 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


how she was rescued from dire peril and a fear- 
ful fate by the before-mentioned Stone; at once 
her parents wish to see and thank the said Stone ; 
Roger is dispatched post haste for the hero of the 
thrilling and deadly struggle ; said hero is carried 
off in triumph to the palatial residence of the 
before-mentioned parents. I’ll stake my pro- 
fessional reputation on the correctness of the de- 
duction.” 

“Guess you’re right, Sleuth,” said Chub. 
“Roger thinks an awful lot of his sister, and he 
choked and couldn’t seem to find words to say 
when he tried to thank Stone.” 

“Say,” drawled Crane, “perhaps this Stone 
ain’t such an awful bad feller after all. Jack 
Walker tol’ me he pitched into Hunk Rollins 
hammer an’ tongs ’cause Hunk was plaguing 
Jimmy Jones, and he said he was a-going to tell 
the professor the whole business. Bern Hayden 
is pretty top-lofty, and he’s down on Stone for 
somethin’, so he wants to drive Stone outer the 
school. I tell you fellers right here that I hope, 
by Jinks ! that Stone don’t go.” 

“ ’Sh !” hissed Sleuth mysteriously, glancing 


A RIFT 


87 

all around, as if fearful of being overheard. 
"Draw back from this bright glare of light, 
where we may be spied upon by watchful and 
suspicious eyes.” 

When they had followed him into the shadow 
at the corner of the building and he had peered 
and listened some moments, he drew them close 
together and, in a low, hoarse voice, declared : 

"It is perfectly apparent to my trained observa- 
tion that there is more in this case than appears 
on the surface. I have struck a scent, which I 
am working up. I pledge you both to secrecy; 
betray me at your peril. Between Hayden and 
Stone there is a deadly and terrible feud. Some- 
time in the dark and hidden past a great wrong 
was committed. I feel it my duty to solve the 
problem and right the wrong. I shall know 
neither rest nor sleep until my task is accom- 
plished and justice is done.” 

"Well, ,, said Sile, in his quaint, drawling way, 
"you may git allfired tired an’ sleepy, Sleuth ; but 
I agree with Chub in thinkin’ it pritty likely 
Roger is a-takin’ Stone up to his haouse.” 

The boys were right in this conviction, al- 


88 


BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


though Ben did not suspect whither he was being 
carried until they were passing the Methodist 
church and approaching Roger’s home. 

“I am taking you to dinner,” said Roger, in 
answer to Ben’s questioning. “Mother asked me 
to bring you in order that she may thank you for 
your brave defense of Amy against old Fletcher’s 
dogs ; and father wishes to see you, too.” 

Ben was filled with sudden consternation. 

“Oh, say, Eliot,” he exclaimed, “I can’t go 
there !” 

“Why not, old man? My mother is an invalid, 
you know, and she can’t come to you. It will be 
a pleasure to her to meet you, and she has few 
enough pleasures in life.” 

“But — but,” stammered Ben, remembering 
that Urian Eliot was known to be Oakdale’s rich- 
est man and lived in the finest house in the vil- 
lage, “I am not prepared — my clothes ” 

“Nonsense!” heartily returned Roger. “You 
will find us plain people who do not go in for 
ceremony and style. Your clothes are all right. 
Just you be easy and make yourself at home.” 

Little did Roger know of his companion’s in- 


A RIFT 89 

ward quaking and apprehension, but it seemed 
too late to get out of it then, and Stone was com- 
pelled to face the ordeal. 

A stableman took charge of the horse and car- 
riage, and they were met at the door by Amy 
Eliot, who had been watching for them. 

“Here he is, Sis,” said Roger. “I captured 
him and brought him off without letting him 
know what was up, or Fd never got him here.” 

Amy shyly, yet impulsively, took Ben’s hand. 

“You were so good to come and save me from 
those dreadful dogs!” she said. “I was nearly 
frightened to death. I know they would have 
eaten me up.” 

As Ben’s chained tongue was seeking to free 
itself a stout, square, bald-headed, florid man, 
with a square-trimmed tuft of iron-gray whisk- 
ers on his chin, appeared in the doorway of a 
lighted room off the hall, and a healthy, hearty 
voice cried : 

“So this is the hero! Well, well, my boy, give 
me your hand! I’ve heard all about it from 
Roger and Amy. And you actually killed old 
Fletcher’s big dog with a club! Remarkable! 


90 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

Amazing ! For that alone you deserve a vote of 
thanks from every respectable, peaceable citizen 
of this town. But we owe you the heaviest debt. 
Our Amy would have been mangled by those 
miserable beasts but for your promptness and 
courage. Lots of boys would have hesitated 
about facing those dogs.” 

“This is my father, Stone,” said Roger, as 
Urian Eliot was earnestly shaking the confused 
lad’s hand. 

Ben managed huskily to murmur that he was 
glad to meet Mr. Eliot. 

From the adjoining room a woman’s low, pleas- 
ant voice called : 

“Why don’t you bring him in ? Have you for- 
gotten me?” 

“No, mother,” answered Roger, taking Ben’s 
cap from his hand and hanging it on the hall 
tree. 

“No, indeed !” declared Mr. Eliot, as he led the 
boy into a handsome room, where there were 
long shelves of books, and great comfortable 
leather-covered chairs, and costly Turkish rugs on 
the hardwood floor, with a wood fire burning 


A RIFT 


9i 

cheerfully in an open fireplace, and a frail, sweet- 
faced woman sitting amid piled-up cushions in an 
invalid's chair near a table, on which stood a 
shaded lamp and lay many books and magazines. 
“Here he is, mother/' 

“Yes, here he is, mother," said Roger, smiling 
that rare, slow smile of his, which illumined his 
face and made it seem peculiarly attractive and 
generous; “but I'm sure I'd never made a suc- 
cess of it in bringing him if I had told him what 
I vranted in the first place."' 

“My dear boy," said Mrs. Eliot, taking Ben's 
hand in both her own thin hands, “mere words 
are quite incapable of expressing my feelings, 
but I wish I might somehow make you know how 
deeply grateful I am to you for your noble and 
heroic action in saving my helpless little girl from 
those cruel dogs." 

At the sound of her voice Ben was moved, and 
the touch of her hands thrilled him. Her tender, 
patient eyes gazed deep into his, and that look 
alone was a thousand times more expressive of 
her gratitude than all the words in the language, 
though chosen by a master speaker. He thought 


9 2 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

of his own kind, long-suffering mother, now at 
rest, and there was a mist in his eyes. 

“Believe me,” he managed to say, “I didn’t do 
it for thanks, and I ” 

“I am sure you didn’t,” she interrupted. “You 
did it just because it was the most natural thing 
for a brave boy like you to do.” 

It was quite astonishing to him to have any one 
regard him as brave and noble, for all his life 
until now everybody had seemed to look on him 
as something quite the opposite ; and, in spite of 
what he had done, he could not help thinking he 
did not deserve to be treated so kindly and shown 
so much gratitude. 

“Sit down, Stone, old man,” invited Roger, 
pushing up a chair. 

“Yes, sit down,” urged Mrs. Eliot. “I want 
to talk with you.” 

In a short time she made him feel quite at ease, 
which also seemed surprising when he thought of 
it; for to him, accustomed to poverty all his life, 
that library was like a room in a palace. And 
these people were such as circumstances and ex- 
perience had led him to believe would feel them- 


A RIFT 


93 

selves in every way his superiors, yet they had 
apparently received him as their equal and made 
no show of holding themselves far above him. 

Urian Eliot, who stood on the hearth-rug, with 
his back to the fire and his hands behind him, 
joined freely in the conversation, and Ben could 
not help wondering if this was really the rich 
mill-owner whom the greater number of the peo- 
ple of Oakdale regarded with an air of awe. He 
was very free and easy and plain-spoken, yet he 
had the reputation of being a hard business man, 
close-fisted to the point of penuriousness in all 
his dealings. 

Amy came and stood close beside Ben, while 
Roger sat on the broad arm of a chair, gravely 
satisfied in his demeanor. 

They talked of many things, and there was no 
suggestion of idle curiosity on the part of Mrs. 
Eliot when she questioned the visitor about him- 
self. 

Ben told of his home with Jacob Baldwin, an 
unsuccessful farmer, who lived some ten miles 
from Oakdale, explaining how he had done his 
best to carry on the little farm while Mr. Baldwin 


94 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

was down with rheumatism, how he had planned 
and saved to get money to attend school, and how 
he had finally set by a small sum that he believed 
was sufficient to carry him through a term at the 
academy by strict economy. 

Listening to this, Urian Eliot nodded repeated- 
ly and rubbed his square hands behind his broad 
back with an atmosphere of satisfaction. When 
the boy had finished, Mr. Eliot surprised him by 
saying: 

“That’s the right sort of stuff — it’s the kind 
that real men are made of. I like it. I was a 
poor boy myself, and I had a pretty hard time of 
it cutting cordwood and hoop-poles in winter and 
working wherever I could earn a dollar in sum- 
mer; but I stuck to it, and I managed to pull 
through all right. You stick to it, my boy, and 
you’ll win. I admire your grit.” 

Such complimentary words from a man like 
Urian Eliot meant a great deal, and they sent a 
glow over Ben. For the time he forgot the cloud 
hanging over him, forgot Bernard Hayden and 
the blighting past, forgot that he was an outcast 
who could never again cross the threshold of Oak- 


A RIFT 


95 

dale academy save to face disgrace and expul- 
sion. 

Finally dinner was announced, and Roger 
carefully wheeled his mother in her chair from 
the library to the dining room, while Urian Eliot 
followed, offering advice and calling to Ben to 
come. 

Amy’s little hand stole into Ben’s, and she 
pressed close to his side, looking up at him. 

“Fm going to sit by you,” she said. “I like 
you, Ben. I think you’re just the best and brav- 
est fellow in the world — except Roger,” she fin- 
ished, as an afterthought. 

It was a happy hour for Ben. 


CHAPTER IX. 


PROFFERED friendship. 

That dinner was one never forgotten by Ben. 
The softly, yet brightly, lighted table, with its 
spotless napery, shining silver, fine china and vase 
of flowers, caused him to feel suddenly overcome 
as he thought of his own poor, plain clothes and 
natural awkwardness. On the sideboard facets 
of cut glass sparkled and gleamed with many 
diamond colors. Above the wainscoting a few 
tasty pictures hung on the dark red walls. 

Never before had the boy dined in such a room 
and at such a table, and the fear that he might do 
some awkward thing to make him blush with 
shame was painful upon him. By resolving to 
watch the others and follow their example he got 
along very well, and by the time the second 
course had disappeared their pleasant chatting 
and perfect freedom had loosened the strain so 
that he was once more somewhat at ease. 

96 


PROFFERED FRIENDSHIP 97 

If he was awkward with his fork, no one no- 
ticed it, and finally he quite forgot his embarrass- 
ment in the realization of the, to him, remarkable 
fact that he was among friends, none of whom 
were seeking to discover his shortcomings that 
they might laugh over them and ridicule him be- 
hind his back. 

Without an apparent effort to induce him, Ben 
was led to join in the conversation. He observed 
that Roger was very tender and considerate to- 
ward his mother, and he did not fail to note the 
glances of love and admiration which the invalid 
bestowed upon her stalwart son. 

Little Amy was light-hearted and happy as she 
sat near the visitor and talked to him in her art- 
less way, while Urian Eliot appeared to be one 
of those rare men who leave all their uncompro- 
mising grimness and stiff business manners out 
of doors when they enter their own homes. 

When the dinner was finished they lingered a 
little over the coffee, all seeming keenly to enjoy 
this time of relaxation and pleasant converse. 
Turning to his son, Mr. Eliot asked : 

“How are you coming on with your subscrip- 


98 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

tion scheme to raise funds to hire a football coach 
for your team, Roger ?” 

“Pretty well/’ was the answer. “But I must 
have twenty-five dollars more, at least. I think 
we have the material to make a good team this 
year, but it takes a coach who knows his business 
to get the very best result out of an eleven on 
which there is bound to be several absolutely 
green players. Wyndham means to beat us 
again this year, and we understand she has a 
Harvard man as a coach.” 

“I suppose you’ve got your eye on a good man 
you can secure for that business?” 

“Yes; Dash Winton, of Dartmouth. He is 
one of the finest full-backs in the country, and 
was chosen last year for the All-American 
Eleven, picked from the leading colleges. Winton 
is the very man for us.” 

“Are you sure you can get him ?” inquired Mr. 
Eliot. 

Roger nodded. “I’ve taken care of that. I 
have corresponded with him, and I can have him 
here two days after I raise the money.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Eliot, rising, “go ahead and 


PROFFERED FRIENDSHIP 


99 

raise all you can. When you can’t get any more, 
come to me and I’ll see what I can do for you.” 

“Thank you, father !” exclaimed Roger. 

When they had returned to the library Roger 
asked Ben to come to his room, and Stone fol- 
lowed up the broad stairs. 

Roger’s room, like the rest of the house, was a 
wonder to Ben. In its alcove the white bed was 
partly hidden by portieres. The rich carpet on 
the floor was soft and yielding to the feet. On a 
table were more magazines and books, part of a 
jointed fishing-rod, and a reel over which Roger 
had been puttering, as it did not run with the 
noiseless freedom that was necessary fully to 
please him. The pictures on the walls were such 
as might be selected by an athletic, sport-loving 
boy. Supported on hooks, there was also a rifle, 
while crossed foil’s adorned the opposite wall. In 
a corner was a tennis racket, and Ben observed 
dumb-bells in pairs of various sizes. 

“Take the big chair, Stone,” urged Roger. 
“You’ll find it rather comfortable, I think. I like 
it to lounge in when I’m reading or studying.” 

Ben found himself wondering that this fellow 


100 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


who had so many things — apparently all a boy's 
heart could desire — should be so free-and-easy 
and should mingle every day without the least air 
of priggishness or superiority with other lads in 
much humbler circumstances. 

This view of Roger's domestic life, this glimpse 
of his home and its seeming luxuries, together 
with a knowledge of his unassuming ways, led 
Stone's respect and admiration for him to in- 
crease boundlessly. 

“Do you box, Stone?" asked Roger, as he re- 
moved from another chair a set of boxing gloves 
and tossed them aside before sitting down. “I 
suppose you do?" 

“No," answered Ben, shaking his head; “I 
know nothing about it." 

“So? Why, it's a good thing for a fellow to 
know how to handle the mitts. I thought likely 
you did when they told me how you biffed Hunk 
Rollins. Rollins is a scrapper, you know, al- 
though it is a fact that he usually picks his fights 
with smaller chaps." 

“I hate fighting !" Stone exclaimed, with almost 
startling vehemence ; and Roger noted that, as he 


PROFFERED FRIENDSHIP ioi 

uttered the words, he lifted his hand with a seem- 
ingly unconscious motion to his mutilated ear. 

“But a fellow has to fight sometimes, old man. 
You gave Rollins what he deserved, and it may 
teach him a lesson. By the way, Stone, I asked 
you out for practice yesterday, and something 
happened that caused you to leave the field. I am 
sorry now that I let you go, and I want you to 
come out to-morrow with the rest of the fellows. 
You ought to make a good man for the team, and 
we’re going to need every good man this year.” 

Ben managed to hide his emotions, but Roger 
fancied there was a set expression on his face and 
a queer stare in his eyes. Thinking it probable 
Stone resented the treatment he had met on the 
field and the attitude of the boys on hearing Hay- 
den’s accusation, the captain of the eleven hast- 
ened to add : 

“I hope you’re not holding anything against 
me. I didn’t know just how to take it when 
Hayden came at you that way. He’s rather pop- 
ular here, you know, and there’s a chance that 
he’ll be captain of the team next year. I’ll be out 
of the school then; I’m going to college. Don’t 


102 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


you mind Hayden or anything he says ; I’m cap- 
tain of the team now, and I’ve asked you to 
practice with us. You will, won’t you?” 

There followed a few moments of silence, dur- 
ing which Ben was getting full command of him- 
self. The silence was finally broken when he 
quietly said: 

“I can’t do it, Eliot.” 

“Can’t?” exclaimed Roger, sitting bolt upright 
in astonishment. “Why not ?” 

“Because I shall not be at school to-morrow.” 
Then, before Roger could ask another question, 
Ben hurried on, apparently anxious to have it 
quickly over and done with. “I thank you for 
again inviting me out for practice, and I want you 
to know that I appreciate it ; but I can’t come, be- 
cause I have left the school for good.” 

This astonished Roger more than ever. 

“Left school for good?” he echoed. “You don’t 
mean that, Stone.” 

“Yes I do,” declared Ben, almost doggedly. 

“Left school ? Why have you left school ?” 

“Because I am compelled to,” explained the 
questioned lad, still resolutely keeping his emotion 


PROFFERED FRIENDSHIP 103 

in check. “I can't help it; I am forced out of 
school." 

Eliot rose to his feet. 

“What's all this about ?" he asked. “You didn't 
come to school this afternoon. Was it because 
Prof. Richardson caught you thumping Rollins 
when the fellow was bullyragging that lame kid? 
Is that it, Stone?" 

“That had something to do with it ; but that's 
only a small part of the cause. That convinced 
the professor that I am all that's low and mean 
and vicious, just as Bernard Hayden's father told 
him. Hayden is behind it, Eliot ; he is determined 
that I shall not attend school here, and he'll have 
his way. What can I do against Bern Hayden 
and his father ? I am alone and without influence 
or friends; they are set against me, and Lemuel 
Hayden is powerful." 

Although the boy still spoke with a sort of 
grim calmness, Roger fancied he detected in his 
forced repression the cry of a desperate, despair- 
ing heart. With a stride, he placed his hands on 
Ben's shoulders. 

“Look here, Stone," he said urgingly, with an 


104 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

air of sincere friendliness, “take me into your 
confidence and tell me what is the trouble between 
you and Bern Hayden. Perhaps I can help you 
some way, and it won’t do any harm for you to 
trust me. You saved my little sister from old 
Fletcher’s dogs, and I want to do something for 
you. I want to be your friend.” 

Ben could not doubt the honest candor of his 
companion, but he shrunk from unbosoming him- 
self, dreading to narrate the unpleasant story of 
the events which had made both Bern Hayden 
and his father his uncompromising enemies and 
had forced him to flee like a criminal from his 
native village in order to escape being sent to the 
State Reformatory. 

“Trust me, Stone,” pleaded Roger. “I don’t 
believe you’ll ever regret it.” 

“All right!” exclaimed Ben suddenly; “I will 
— I’ll tell you everything.” 


CHAPTER X. 
stone's story. 

“That's right," cried Roger, with satisfaction, 
resuming his seat. “Tell me the whole business. 
Fire away, old man." 

As Ben seemed hesitating over the beginning 
of the story, Roger observed that, with an ap- 
parently unconscious movement, he once more 
lifted his hand to his mutilated ear. At that mo- 
ment Eliot was struck with the conviction that 
the story he was about to hear was concerned 
with the injury to that ear. 

“At the very start," said Ben, an uncomfort- 
able look on his plain face, “I have to confess 
that my father was always what is called a shift- 
less man. He was more of a dreamer than a 
doer, and, instead of trying to accomplish things, 
he spent far too much time in meditating on what 
he might accomplish. He dreamed a great deal 

105 


io6 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


of inventing something that would make his for- 
tune, and this led him to declare frequently that 
some day he would make a lot of money. He was 
not a bad man, but he was careless and neglectful, 
a poor planner and a poor provider. The neigh- 
bors called him lazy and held him in considerable 
contempt. 

“Although we were very poor, my father was 
determined that I should have an education, and 
I attended the public school in Hilton, where we 
lived. I know I’m not handsome, Eliot, and could 
never be much of a favorite; but the fact that we 
lived in such humble circumstances and that my 
father seemed so worthless caused the boys who 
dared do so to treat me with disdain. Naturally 
I have a violent temper, and when it gets the best 
of me I am always half crazy with rage. I always 
was pretty strong, and I made it hot for most of 
the boys who dared taunt me about my father or 
call me names. It seems to me now that I was 
almost always fighting in those times. I hated 
the other boys and despised them in a way as 
much as they despised me. 

“My only boy friend and confidant was my lit- 


STONE'S STORY 


107 


tie blind brother, Jerry, whose sight was almost 
totally destroyed by falling from a window when 
he was only four years old. Although I always 
wished for a boy chum near my own age, I never 
had one; and I think perhaps this made me all 
the more devoted to Jerry, who, I am sure, loved 
me as much as I did him. 

“Jerry's one great pleasure was in fiddling. 
Father had a violin, and without any instructions 
at all Jerry learned to play on it. It was wonder- 
ful how quickly he could pick up a tune. I used 
to tell him he would surely become a great violin- 
ist some day. 

“Of course my temper and frequent resent- 
ment over the behavior of other boys toward me 
got me into lots of trouble at school. Once I was 
suspended, and a dozen times I was threatened 
with expulsion. But I kept right on, and after a 
while it got so that even the older and bigger boys 
didn't care much about stirring me up. If they 
didn't respect me, some of them were afraid of 
me. 

“There was a certain old woman in the village 
who disliked me, and she was always saying I 


io8 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


would kill somebody some day and be hanged for 
it. Don’t think I’m boasting of this, Eliot, for 
I’m not; I am heartily ashamed of it. I tell it so 
you may understand what led me into the affair 
with Bernard Hayden and made him and his fa- 
ther my bitter enemies. 

“I suppose it was because I was strong and 
such a fighter that the boys gave me a chance on 
the school football team. Hayden opposed it, but 
I got on just the same. He always was a proud 
fellow, and I think he considered it a disgrace to 
play on the team with me. But I was determined 
to show the boys I could play, and I succeeded 
fairly well. This changed the bearing of some of 
them toward me, and I was beginning to get along 
pretty well at school when something happened 
that drove me, through no fault of my own, in 
shame and disgrace from the school and cast a 
terrible shadow on my life.” 

Here Stone paused, shading his eyes with his 
square, strong hand, and seemed to shrink from 
the task of continuing. Roger opened his lips to 
speak a word of encouragement, but suddenly 


STONE’S STORY 109 

decided that silence was best and waited for the 
other lad to resume. 

“For some time,” Ben finally went on, “my 
father had been working much in secret in a gar- 
ret room of our house. Whenever anything was 
said to him about this he always declared he was 
working out an invention that would enable him 
to make lots of money. I remember that, for all 
of our great poverty, he was in the best of spirits 
those days and often declared we’d soon be rich. 

“There was in the village one man, Nathan 
Driggs, with whom father had always been on in- 
timate terms. Driggs kept a little shop where he 
did watch and clock repairing, and he was noted 
for his skill as an engraver. Driggs was also 
rather poor, and it was often remarked that a 
man of his ability should be better situated and 
more successful. 

“One dark night, near one o’clock in the morn- 
ing, I was aroused by hearing someone knocking 
at our door. My father went to the door, and, 
with my wonder and curiosity aroused, I listened 
at an upper window that was open. The man at 


no BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


the door talked with my father in low tones, and 
I fancied he was both excited and alarmed. 

“I could not hear much that passed between 
them, but I believed I recognized the voice of 
Driggs, and I was sure I heard him say some- 
thing about 'friendship’ and 'hiding it some- 
where.’ When the man had gone I heard father 
climb the stairs to the attic. I wondered over it 
a long time before I fell asleep again. 

"The following day my father was arrested 
and the house was searched. Concealed in the 
attic they discovered a bundle, or package, and 
this contained dies for the making of counter- 
feit money. In vain father protested his inno- 
cence. Appearances were against him, and 
every one seemed to believe him guilty. On 
learning what the bundle contained, he immedi- 
ately told how it came into his possession, stating 
it had been brought to him in the night by 
Nathan Driggs. 

"Driggs was likewise arrested, but he contra- 
dicted my father’s statement and positively de- 
nied all knowledge of the bundle or its contents. 
Several members of an organized body of coun- 


STONE'S STORY 


hi 


terfeiters had been captured, but these men did 
not manufacture their dies, and the Secret Serv- 
ice agents had traced the latter to Fairfield. 

“Both father and Driggs were held for trial 
in heavy bonds. Neither of them was able to 
find bondsmen, and so they went to jail. There 
were those in Hilton who fancied Driggs might 
be innocent, but everybody seemed to believe my 
father guilty. It was the talk of the town how 
he had shut himself in his garret day after day 
in a most suspicious manner and had often boast- 
ed that some day he would 'make a lot of money.' 

“At the regular trial I was a witness. I told 
how Driggs had come to our house in the night, 
and I repeated the few words I had heard him 
say. The prosecutor did his best to confuse me, 
and when he failed he sarcastically complimented 
me on having learned my lesson well. You can't 
understand how I felt when I saw no one be- 
lieved me. 

“Again Driggs denied everything, and he 
had covered his tracks so well that it was im- 
possible to find him guilty; but my father was 
convicted and sentenced to a long term in prison. 


1 12 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


It was a heavy blow to my poor mother, and 
she never recovered from it. 

“I now found myself an outcast in every sense 
of the word, despised and shunned by all the boys 
who knew me. Under such conditions I could 
not attend school, and I tried to do what I could 
to help my mother support the family; but no 
one seemed willing to give me work, and we had 
a pretty hard time of it. 

“The worst was to come. Two months after 
being sent to prison my father attempted to es- 
cape and was shot and killed. Mother was pros- 
trated, and I thought she would surely die then; 
but she finally rallied, although she carried a 
constant pain in her heart, as if the bullet that 
slew my father had lodged in her breast.” 

Once more the narrator paused, swallowing 
down a lump that had risen into his throat. He 
was a strong lad and one not given to betraying 
emotion, but the remembrance of what his un- 
fortunate mother had suffered choked him tem- 
porarily. When he again took up his story he 
spoke more hurriedly, as if anxious to finish and 
have it over. 


STONE’S STORY 


ii 3 

“It isn’t necessary to tell all the unpleasant 
things that happened after that, but we had a 
hard time of it, Eliot, and you can understand 
why it was that I just almost hated nearly every- 
body. But most I came to hate Bern Hayden, 
who was a leader among the village boys, and 
who never lost a chance to taunt and deride me 
and call me the son of a jail-bird. I don't know 
how I kept my hands off him as long as I did. 
I often thought I could kill him with a will. 

“My little brother could get around amazingly 
well, even though he was blind, and he had a 
way of carrying father's old fiddle with him 
into a grove not far from our house. One day 
I came home and found him crying himself sick 
over the fiddle, which had been smashed and 
ruined. He told me Bern Hayden had smashed 
the instrument. 

“That night Hayden visited another boy, with 
whom he was very chummy. This other boy 
lived some distance outside the village, and I lay 
in wait for Hayden and stopped him as he was 
crossing lots on his way home. It was just get- 
ting dark, and the spot was lonely. It was light 


1 14 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

enough, just the same, for him to see my face, 
and I knew from his actions that he was fright- 
ened. I told him I was going to give him such 
a thumping that he’d remember it as long as he 
lived. He threatened me, but that didn’t stop me 
a bit, and I went for him. 

“Hayden wasn’t such a slouch of a fighter, 
but he couldn’t hold his own with me, for I was 
bursting with rage. I got him down and was 
punishing him pretty bad when somehow he man- 
aged to get out his pocket knife and open it. He 
struck at me with the knife, and this is the re- 
sult.” 

Roger gave a cry as Ben again lifted a hand 
to his mutilated ear. 

“He cut part of your ear off?” gasped Eliot. 

Ben nodded. “Then I seemed to lose my rea- 
son entirely. I choked him until he was pretty 
nearly finished. As he lay limp and half dead 
on the ground, I stripped off his coat and vest 
and literally tore his shirt from his body. I 
placed him in a sitting posture on the ground, 
with his arms locked about the butt of a small 
tree, and tied his wrists together. With his own 


STONE'S STORY 


ii5 

knife with which he had marked me for life, I 
cut a tough switch from a bush, and with that I 
gave it to him on his bare back until his screams 
brought two men, who seized and stopped me. I 
was so furious that I had not heard their ap- 
proach. I was all covered with blood from my 
ear, and I sort of gave out all at once when the 
men grabbed me. 

“1 tell you, that affair kicked up some excite- 
ment in Hilton. My ear was cared for, but even 
while he dressed the wound the doctor told me 
that Lemuel Hayden would surely send me to the 
reform school. My mother fainted when she 
heard what had happened. 

“I believe they would have sent me to the re- 
form school right away had I not been taken 
violently ill the following day. Jerry told me 
that Bern Hayden was also in bed. I was just 
getting up when mother fell ill herself, and in 
three days she died. I think she died of a broken 
heart. Poor mother ! Her whole life was one of 
hardships and disappointments. 

“Uncle Asher, mother's brother, arrived the 
day after mother died. He took charge of the 


n6 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


funeral, but almost as soon as he stepped off the 
train in Hilton he heard what a bad boy I was, 
and he looked on me with disfavor. 

“After the funeral Jerry came to me in the 
greatest excitement and told me he had heard 
Lemuel Hayden and Uncle Asher talking, and 
uncle had agreed that I should be sent to the Re- 
formatory, as Mr. Hayden wished. Uncle said 
he would look out for Jerry, but I was to be car- 
ried off the next morning. 

“That night I ran away. I whispered good-by 
to Jerry and stole out of the house, with only a 
little bundle of clothing and less than a dollar 
in money. I managed to get away all right, for 
I don’t believe any one tried very hard to catch 
me. I fancy the people of Hilton thought it a 
good riddance. 

“For a long time I was afraid of being taken. 
I found work in several places, but kept chang- 
ing and moving until Jacob Baldwin took me to 
work for him. Both Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin 
have been awfully good to me, and sometime, if 
I ever can, I’m going to pay them back for it. 
They encouraged me to save money to come here 


STONE’S STORY 


ii 7 

to school. I came and found the Haydens here, 
and now that’s all over. 

“I’ve told you the whole yarn, Eliot ; I haven’t 
tried to hide anything or excuse myself. I know 
I was to blame, but you might have done some- 
thing yourself if you had been goaded and tor- 
mented and derided as I was. Then to have 
Hayden do such a mean thing as to smash my 
brother’s fiddle! 

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told the 
whole story to, and I suppose, now that you 
know just the sort of fellow I am, you’ll agree 
with Hayden that I’m no fit associate for other 
boys at the academy.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


ON the: threshold. 

“On the contrary,” declared Roger earnestly, 
as he once more rose from his chair, “I hold quite 
a different opinion of you, Stone. You have 
had a tough time of it, and any fellow in your 
place with an ounce of real blood in his body 
might have done just what you did. Every chap 
is human, and if you had submitted to insults and 
injury without resentment you would have been 
a soft mark. Hayden marked you for life, and 
he might have killed you when he struck with 
that knife; in return you gave him just what he 
deserved. There is nothing in the world I des- 
pise more than a fighter who is a bully, and 
nothing I admire more than a fighter who fights 
for his rights. I don’t believe there is the least 
atom of a bully about you, Stone. Put me in 
your place and I might have gone farther than 
you did.” 


ON THE THRESHOLD 


1 19 

“Thank you, Eliot — thank you!” exclaimed 
Ben huskily, as he also rose. “But I have learned 
by experience that any fellow can't afford to try 
squaring up scores with an enemy by fighting or 
any sort of personal violence; I've found out he 
only injures himself the most, and I believe there 
must be other and better ways of getting even.” 

“Perhaps that's right, too,” nodded Roger; 
“but I am satisfied that it is your natural impulse 
to protect the weak and defend them from the 
strong and brutal. You do it without pausing 
to think of possible consequences to yourself. 
That's why you defended Jimmy Jones from 
Hunk Rollins, who, by the way, is a duffer for 
whom I have no particular use. That is why you 
faced the fangs of old Fletcher's fierce dogs to 
save my sister. Stone, I think you're all right, 
and I'm ready to tell anybody so.” 

Again Ben expressed his thanks in a voice deep 
with emotion. 

“Now,” Roger went on, “I think we under- 
stand each other better, and I am satisfied that 
a chap of your grit and determination will be a 
valuable addition to the Oakdale Eleven, for 


120 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

there are some fellows on the team who lack sand 
and can be well spared. Don’t talk to me about 
leaving school!” he exclaimed, lifting a hand and 
smiling in that manner which made him so at- 
tractive. “That’s all nonsense! You’re not 
going to leave school.” 

“But — but I can’t stay,” faltered Stone. “I 
don’t want to leave, but ” 

“You shan’t; I’ll see to that. Prof. Richardson 
shall know just why you sailed into Hunk Rol- 
lins, I promise you. When he understands that 
you were simply protecting a helpless cripple 
from a bully who was tormenting him he’ll be 
pretty sure to do you justice. He’ll find out how 
you defended my sister, too. I tell you it’s all 
right, old fellow, and you’ll stay right here at 
school as long as you care to do so.” 

A flush came to Ben’s freckled cheeks and his 
eyes gleamed with growing eagerness. 

“That’s fine of you, Eliot!” he exclaimed. 

“Fine — nothing! Do you think that will be 
anything compared with what you did for me? 
I should say not! If I didn’t do that much I’d 
be a poor flub.” 


ON THE THRESHOLD 


121 


“Hayden — he will ” 

“Don’t you worry about Hayden. This is not 
Hilton, and it’s not likely Lemuel Hayden could 
succeed in making much out of that old affair if 
he tried. Besides, I fancy my father has about 
as much influence in Oakdale as Lemuel Hayden 
has. He has been here a great deal longer, and 
the mill business of the place is decidedly more 
important than the lime industry. I’ll guarantee 
that father will stand by you like a brick, so, you 
see, you have some friends of consequence.” 

It was difficult for Ben to comprehend at once 
that the thing which had menaced him and 
threatened to drive him like a criminal from 
Oakdale was no longer to be feared. From the 
depths of despair he was thus lifted to the heights 
of hope, but the sudden change seemed to be- 
wilder him. 

Roger’s arm fell across his shoulders and 
Roger went on talking to him quietly and con- 
vincingly, making it plain that his proper course 
was to return to school the following day exactly 
as if nothing had happened. 

“Leave it to me; leave it to me,” Roger per- 


122 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


sisted. “HI guarantee to settle the whole matter 
for you. Say you'll let me take care of this af- 
fair, old chap.” 

“You— I— I ” 

“Then it's settled, is it?” cried the determined 
boy. “You'll be there to-morrow? That's first 
rate ! Give me your hand on it.” 

Ben found Roger shaking his hand, and he re- 
turned the warm, friendly grip, a mist in his 
eyes. 

“I can’t hardly believe I'm lucky enough to 
have such a friend,” half whispered the boy 
whose starved heart had yearned all his life for 
friendship and comradery. “It’s too good to be 
true.” 

“Perhaps I’m a bit selfish about it, too,” said 
Eliot. “I have my eye on you for the eleven, as 
we’re bound to do up Wyndham this year. You 
ought to be a stiff man in the line. I want you 
to come out for practice to-morrow night. We'll 
have our coach next week, and then we’ll have 
to settle right down to business and get into trim. 
He’ll make us toe the scratch.” 

Later, on the way back to his bare room at 


ON THE THRESHOLD 


123 

Mrs. Jones’, Ben wondered if he had not been 
dreaming. It did not seem possible that such 
good fortune could come to him at last, just 
when, to all appearances, his hard luck had cul- 
minated in blighting disaster. 

As he thought of his visit to Roger Eliot’s 
home, of his reception by Roger’s family, of that 
dinner in the handsome dining room, and of 
Roger’s earnest pledge on hearing his story to 
stand by him and be his friend, a strange and 
wonderful feeling of lightness and exuberant 
happiness possessed him and made him long to 
shout and sing. An inward voice seemed whis- 
pering that he had left behind him all the dark 
shadows, and now stood on the threshold of a 
brighter and better life. 

Still it was not wholly without a feeling of 
dread and misgiving that he approached the 
academy the following morning, and the fear that 
somehow things might not go right after all left 
his face pale, although his heart beat tumultu- 
ously, as he came up the gravel walk. 

As usual at such an hour on warm and pleas- 
ant days while school was holding there was a 


124 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

group of boys near the academy steps. Chipper 
Cooper had just finished telling for the thirteenth 
time that morning how Stone had defended Amy 
Eliot and “knocked the stuffing out of Fletcher’s 
dogs/’ his every statement having been confirmed 
by Chub Tuttle, who was making a sort of after- 
breakfast lunch on peanuts. 

Every boy in the gathering turned to look at 
Ben as he drew near, and had he observed he 
must have seen there was nothing of unfriendli- 
ness in their faces. When he would have passed 
them to enter the academy Chipper called to him. 

“Hey, Stone!” he cried; “hold on a minute, 
will you? Where did you hit Old Tige’s big dog 
when you knocked him stiff? We fellows have 
been wondering how you did it.” 

“I hit him on the back of his neck,” answered 
Ben, pausing a bit. 

“Well, that was a dandy trick!” declared 
Cooper. “You ought to have a reward of merit 
for that.” 

Chub Tuttle approached Ben and held out a 
handful of peanuts. 

“Have some,” he urged, his round face beam- 


ON THE THRESHOLD 


125 

ing. “Fresh roasted. Got ’em at Stickney’s 
store.” 

“Thank you,” said Ben, feeling his face flush 
as he accepted two or three of them. 

At that moment Roger Eliot came from with- 
in the building, saw Ben and seized him imme- 
diately, saying: 

“Just the fellow I’m looking for ! Prof. Rich- 
ardson wants to see you before school begins. 
Come in.” 

Then, with his arm about Ben, he drew him 
into the academy. 

“By Jinks!” exclaimed Sile Crane; “I guess 
that pretty nigh settles things. When Roger 
Eliot takes up with a feller like that, Bern Hay- 
den nor nobody else ain't goin’ to down him 
much.” 

“ ’Sh !” hissed Sleuth Piper, assuming an air 
of caution and mystery. “I have been piping 
things off this morning, and Fll stake my repu- 
tation on it that Eliot has been fixing it for 
Stone. He has revealed to the professor the 
whole tragic tale of that encounter with Fletch- 
er’s dogs, and, besides that, the professor has 


126 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


been questioning some of the fellows who were 
on the scene of action when the go between Stone 
and Rollins took place. My deduction is that 
Stone will come out of this affair with flying 
colors/’ 

“You’re almost too knowing to live, Sleuth,” 
said Cooper sarcastically. “As for me, I rather 
hope Stone does come out all right, for if he stays 
in the school he may play football, and I reckon 
a stocky chap like him will just about fill an ach- 
ing void in the right wing of the line.” 

“An aching void !” sneered Piper, who had not 
relished Cooper’s words or manner. “Will you 
be good enough, Mr. Smarty, to tell us how a 
void can ache?” 

“Why, sure,” grinned Chipper promptly. 
“You have a headache sometimes, don’t you?” 

“Smarty! smarty!” cried Sleuth, as he fled 
into the academy to escape from the laughter of 
the boys. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE SKIES BRIGHTEN. 

Having opened school that morning in the 
usual manner, Prof. Richardson rose beside his 
desk, on which he tapped lightly with his knuck- 
les, and surveyed the scholars over his specta- 
cles, which seemed to cling precariously to the tip 
of his thin, aquiline nose. There was a slight 
bustle of expectancy all over the room, and then 
the scholars settled themselves down almost 
breathlessly to hear what the principal would say. 

Having cleared his throat, Prof. Richardson 
began speaking slowly and distinctly, as if weigh- 
ing every word. He did not look at first in the 
direction of Stone, who sat there flushed and 
chilled by turns, keeping his eyes on an open book 
which lay before him. There was sternness as 
he expressed his sentiments regarding the person 
127 


128 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


with a bullying inclination who took pleasure in 
abusing those physically weaker than himself; 
and, although Sam Rollins’ name was not men- 
tioned, every one knew at whom those open re- 
marks were directed. 

Hunk knew, and in an effort to appear un- 
concerned and a trifle defiant he was openly 
brazen. Soon, however, his eyes drooped before 
the accusing gaze of the old professor. 

The principal continued by commending with 
some warmth the individual whose impulses led 
him, regardless of personal danger or the chance 
of being misunderstood, to stand up in defense 
of one who was being mistreated and abused. 
He went on to say that such a thing had oc- 
curred upon the previous afternoon, and that 
through undue haste on his own part, which he 
now regretted, he had been led to misunderstand 
the situation and condemn the wrong person. He 
even displayed his own moral courage by offer- 
ing an apology. 

Ben Stone’s cheeks were burning now, and 
his heart pounded so heavily that he fancied 
every one near him must hear it. He did not 


THE SKIES BRIGHTEN 


129 

move as his grinning little seatmate reached over 
slyly to pinch him, whispering: 

“That’s for you, old feller.” 

Prof. Richardson was still speaking, and now 
he was telling of the remarkable heroism of a 
lad who had rushed to the defense of a little girl 
beset by two huge and vicious dogs. The princi- 
pal’s words were simple and straightforward ; he 
made no effort at eloquence, and yet his language 
was singularly graphic and effective. He made 
them shiver at the picture he drew of little Amy 
Eliot besieged by Tige Fletcher’s ugly pets. He 
caused them to see in imagination the dauntless 
defender of the child rushing to the spot and 
beating the brutes off. 

“It was a very fine thing to do,” said the pro- 
fessor, who was at last looking straight at the 
lad whose eyes remained fixed upon that open 
book. “It was something not a few men might 
have hesitated about doing, or, at least, might 
have done in fear and trepidation. It is really 
marvelous that the heroic lad escaped untouched 
by the fangs of those snarling beasts. By this 
deed he established beyond question the fact that 


130 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

he is a boy of fine courage, possessing the in- 
stincts which lead him unhesitatingly to face 
gravest peril in defense of those who are unable 
to defend themselves. I have certainly learned 
a great deal concerning this lad, who apparently 
has been much misunderstood in the past, and I 
am proud of the fact that he is a student in this 
school. I am speaking of Benjamin Stone. ,, 

A sudden hand-clapping broke out all over the 
room, and the professor did not check them nor 
reprove them for it. 

There was, however, at least one who did not 
join in the burst of applause. Bernard Hayden’s 
face was pale and cold, but in his bosom there 
was a raging fire of wrath and resentment. 

Ben was overcome. His head bent lower, and 
he blinked his eyelids rapidly to scatter the blur- 
ring mist which threatened to blind him. His 
effort to smile simply contorted his plain face a 
trifle, and there was nothing noble or heroic in 
the picture he made. 

“Gee!” whispered Ben’s seatmate. “I never 
knew the old Prof, to get so enthusiastic before.” 

As the regular routine of the day was taken 


THE SKIES BRIGHTEN 131 

up, Ben still sat there without daring to look 
around. He did not know when Bern Hayden, 
complaining of illness, asked permission to go 
home. Like one in a trance, he tried to study, 
and finally succeeded in forcing his attention 
upon his lessons. It truly seemed that the last 
shadow had been dispelled. 

At intermission the boys came flocking around 
him, and some of the girls smiled upon him in a 
friendly manner. They found, however, that he 
disliked to talk of his exciting encounter with 
Fletcher's dogs. 

“The town fathers orter present you with a 
medal for killin' old Tige's big cur," said Sile 
Crane. 

“It may not oc -cur to them to do it," chuckled 
Chipper Cooper. 

“Permit me," grinned Chub Tuttle, “as a token 
of my high appreciation and gratitude, to present 
you with a genuine fresh roasted, double-jointed 
California peanut." 

Even Spotty Davis hung around and sought to 
be familiar and friendly. Seizing Davis by the 


132 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

elbow, Sleuth Piper drew him aside and whis- 
pered mysteriously behind his hand: 

“Listen to the deduction into which I have 
been led by the present surprising turn of af- 
fairs/’ pleaded Sleuth. “Take it from me that 
this man Stone will become a member of the 
great Oakdale eleven, which will be much 
strengthened by his marvelous prowess and un- 
daunted courage.” 

“Mebbe so,” nodded Spotty; “but it ain’t go- 
ing to set well in Bern Hayden’s crop.” 

Walker, Ben’s seatmate, who had once felt it 
a sore affliction to be placed beside him, now 
hovered near, seeking to enjoy a little irradiated 
glory. 

It was all very strange and unusual for Stone, 
and in spite of his pleasure in it his natural 
shyness continued to make him appear distant and 
somewhat sullen. 

When midday intermission arrived Ben hast- 
ened to leave the academy, rushing away before 
any of the boys could join him. That day his 
cold lunch tasted sweet indeed, and his little bare 
room looked strangely attractive and homelike. 


THE SKIES BRIGHTEN 


133 


He returned late to the academy, arriving 
barely in time to escape being tardy. All the 
afternoon he studied hard, and in his recitations 
he was well prepared. 

School over for the day, he was not given time 
to get away before the others, Eliot capturing 
him on the steps. 

“Come on over to the gym, old fellow,” urged 
Roger. “This time you’re going to practice. I 
know the place for you in the line.” 

“Come on, come on,” called several others; 
“we must get at it early to-night.” 

Hayden was not with them; he had not re- 
turned to the academy since leaving on the plea 
of illness. 

Again in the dressing room, Ben was supplied 
with football togs from Eliot’s locker. He dressed 
silently, listening to the chatter of the boys 
around him. They were all talking football now. 

“I wonder where Bern is?” said Berlin Barker. 
“I should think he would want to get out with us 
to-night.” 

“He was taken suddenly ill,” grinned Chipper 
Cooper. “Wonder if he has had a doctor?” 


134 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

Stone felt a chill at the mention of his enemy’s 
name. He was congratulating himself over 
Hayden’s absence when something like a shadow 
seemed to come over him, and he looked up quick- 
ly to discover the fellow in the open doorway. 

“Eliot,” called Bern, stepping into the room, 
“I want a few private words with you.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 
hayden’s demand. 

As he passed, the fellow cast a single malig- 
nant glance of hatred in Stone’s direction. 
Through the door which opened into the big, long 
main room of the gymnasium he strode, grimly 
inviting Eliot to follow him. 

“Gee !” sibilated Sleuth Piper. “I scent trou- 
ble. Bern is mounted on his high horse.” 

“Some folks who ride high hosses git a fall,” 
drawled Sile Crane, making a wry face as he 
pushed his left foot into a cleated shoe. “Drat 
that corn! If it don’t stop botherin’ me purty 
soon, I’ll whittle the whole toe off.” 

After hesitating a moment, Roger Eliot slowly 
followed Hayden, who had paused with an air of 
impatience to wait for him in the big room. 
Through the open doorway Ben saw them stand- 
ing close together, Hayden beginning to speak 
135 


136 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

in low tones in a manner of mingled demand and 
threat. 

“Look here, Eliot/’ said Bern, “I want to know 
what you mean to do. I want an immediate un- 
derstanding.” 

“What is it, Bern?” asked Roger. “What are 
you talking about?” 

“About that son of a stripe wearer, Stone. 
Are you going to attempt to ram him down my 
throat?” 

“Not at all. If you fancy you have any just 
reason for not wishing to be friendly with Stone, 
that’s your business, and I’m not going to dip 
into the affair.” 

“Fancy!” grated Hayden resentfully. “There’s 
no fancy about it. Friendly with him — friendly 
with such a low-bred, worthless cur? To sug- 
gest friendship between us is an insult to me.” 

“I have no wish to insult you, old fellow. 
Doubtless you believe you have honest reasons 
for your dislike toward Stone. Nevertheless, it’s 
a fact that many persons hate others from no just 
cause.” 

“You’re insinuating that I’m unjust and dis- 


HAYDEN'S DEMAND 


137 

honest in this matter. Doubtless Stone has told 
you a clever lie, and now simply because he de- 
fended your sister when she was attacked by 
Fletcher’s dogs you’re ready to take sides with 
him against me.” 

“ I don’t propose to take sides at all unless com- 
pelled to do so.” 

“You’ve done so already.” 

“How?” 

“By going to Prof. Richardson and interceding 
in Stone’s behalf. You can’t deny that. You 
certainly did it.” 

“Will you wait until I attempt to deny any- 
thing?” requested Roger coldly. “I did go to the 
professor and tell him a few plain facts which I 
happened to know.” 

“Facts !” sneered Bern. “Lies which Stone had 
poured into your ears. It’s remarkable that you 
should take the word of a creature like that in- 
stead of mine.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, 
Hayden. I spoke to the professor about the en- 
counter between Rollins and Stone, and likewise 
told him of Stone’s heroic defense of Amy. Prof. 


138 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 
Richardson believed Ben had attacked Hunk 
without reasonable provocation; he was not 
aware that the affair had been brought about by 
Rollins’ bullying abuse of little Jimmy Jones. I 
was not the only one who gave him the straight- 
forward facts ; an eye-witness of the whole thing 
had spoken to him about it before I mentioned it. 
Naturally, I am grateful toward Stone; I’d be a 
fine fellow if I wasn’t.” 

“He’s a cheap dog, and all your efforts to 
patch him up and make him appear decent won’t 
succeed; his real nature can’t help coming to the 
surface. Why, it’s only necessary for one to take 
a look at him to size him up. What has he told 
you about me?” 

“I prefer not to speak of any private conversa- 
tion that may have taken place between Stone 
and myself.” 

“Oh, then he has told you a mess of stuff. I 
knew it. If you wish to know what people think 
of Stone in Hilton, I’ll furnish evidence enough. 
His father was convicted of counterfeiting, sent 
to prison, and ” 


HAYDEN’S DEMAND 


139 

“Do you believe that the errors of a parent 
should blight the life of his son?” 

“ ‘Like father, like son/ is an old saying, Eliot. 
Water won’t run up hill. But Stone’s own record 
is enough to ban him from decent company. His 
own uncle admitted that he ought to be sent to 
the reform school, and he would have been if he 
hadn’t run away. The people of Hilton regard it 
as a good riddance, too.” 

“It’s hard for a fellow when his own relatives 
turn against him.” 

“It’s plain where your sympathies lie!” ex- 
claimed Hayden resentfully. “You’re ready and 
willing to take up for this fellow against me. 
You’ve brought him here to make him a member 
of the eleven. Go ahead, but let me repeat that 
I’ll never disgrace myself by playing on the same 
team with him.” 

“Do you' think that’s the proper spirit, Hay- 
den? You know the team is decidedly weak in 
several spots. We’re particularly anxious to beat 
Wyndham this year, and in order to do so we’ve 
got to put our strongest team into the field. A 
fellow who is loyal to his school and his team 


140 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

puts aside personal prejudices and is ready for 
almost any sacrifice. If Stone becomes a mem- 
ber of the eleven you don’t have to accept him 
as a friend, and it’s not necessary that you should 
associate with him off the field. You’re unrea- 
sonably angry now, Bern, but if you’ll take time 
to cool off and think it over, I’m confident you’ll 
perceive the mistake you’re disposed to make.” 

Hayden lifted his clenched fist in a passionate 
gesture. “I tell you, Eliot, you can’t ram him 
down my throat. You ought to know whether 
or not I’m of especial value to the team. If I 
was willing to try, I couldn’t play upon it and do 
myself justice with that fellow a member. You’ll 
have to choose between us.” 

“I don’t wish to do anything of the sort. I’m 
captain of the team, and, even though I disliked 
Stone as bitterly as you do, I’d accept him as a 
member if I knew he would strengthen our 
forces.” 

“Yes, you’re captain of the team,” sneered 
Bern, “and you’re trying to work for your own 
advantage ; but let me inform you that if you per- 
sist in this course it will be to your decided disad- 


HAYDEN’S DEMAND 


141 

vantage. You’ll find I’m not the only one who 
can’t swallow Stone. If you want harmony on 
the team — and that’s rather important — just send 
him scooting. He can’t play football, anyhow. 
He’s a big, lumbering, dull-witted creature who 
will be an incumbrance.” 

“I can’t see how we can tell about that until 
he has been tried out.” 

Again the indignant lad made that passionate 
gesture with his clenched fist. “Try him out 
then!” he snarled. “Have your own way and 
see what comes of it, but you’ll be sorry for your 
obstinacy.” With which he stepped past Roger 
and walked swiftly back through the dressing 
room, his dark face pale with pent-up exaspera- 
tion. 

“I say, Bern,” called Berlin Barker, “where 
are you going? Aren’t you going to stay for 
practice ?” 

“Not to-night,” Hayden flung over his shoul- 
der, “nor any other night until Eliot comes to his 


senses. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE BONE OF CONTENTION. 

For a few moments the boys looked at one an- 
other in silence, their faces expressive of dismay. 
To a fellow, they understood what it meant, and 
presently some of them glanced toward Ben 
Stone. He likewise knew, and, rising, he stepped 
forward to meet the captain of the eleven. 

“Eliot,” he said in a low tone, “I think Fd 
better get out. I’m making a lot of trouble.” 

Before them all Roger placed a hand on Ben's 
shoulder. “Stone,” he retorted, “the trouble is 
not of your making. I invited you to come out 
for practice, and I hope you won't go back on 
me now.” 

As long as he put it that way, it was impossible 
for Ben to quit. 

Minus Hayden, the boys repaired to the field. 
They lacked their usual exuberance, however, 
142 


THE BONE OF CONTENTION 143 

and Ben detected some of them speaking to- 
gether in low tones. In spite of everything, he felt 
that he was an intruder, and his self-conscious- 
ness made him particularly awkward and slow 
about the work he was given to perform. He 
fumbled punts, he fell on the ball in wretched 
form, and there seemed to be leaden weights in 
his shoes. Occasionally he detected some of the 
boys watching him in anything but a manner of 
approval. 

Finally Eliot made up the team, filling Hay- 
den’s place in the backfield with a substitute and 
placing Stone at left guard. 

“ You’re good and solid,” smiled Roger, “and 
when you wake up you ought to strengthen this 
wing of the line. Remember to start low and 
quick at the signal.” 

But although the signals, which were very 
simple, had been fully explained to Ben, he could 
not grasp them quickly, and he was more or less 
confused when the time came to act. Roger, 
however, seemed to consider this very natural, 
and laughed at him in a good humored way. 

“You’ll get onto it all right in time,” declared 


144 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

the captain. “Perhaps this code of signals won't 
be used at all after we get our coach. Pm just 
trying the fellows out to get them used to the 
formations." 

“My deduction is ” began Piper; but no 

one listened to him. 

Practice over, Ben returned to the gymnasium 
to change his clothes, feeling far from pleased 
with himself. His discomfiture was increased 
when he heard Berlin Barker telling some of the 
boys that he considered it a great misfortune that 
Hayden should become huffed and leave the team. 

“I don't know how we're going to get along 
without him in the backfield," said Barker. “He's 
fast, and he knows the game right down to the 
ground. His place can't be filled." 

“Oh, he'll get over it," prophesied Cooper 
cheerfully. “He will come round in a day or 
two." 

“You don't know him," returned Berlin. “He'll 
never change his mind." 

Ben sat alone in his room, thinking it all over. 
He felt that Barker was right in believing that 
as long as he remained on the team Bern Hay- 


THE BONE OF CONTENTION 145 

den would not return to it. That Hayden was 
a good player and a valuable man he had no 
doubt. What did it matter whether he himself 
played football or not? True, he would have 
enjoyed doing so, but, to a certain extent, he had 
triumphed over the fellow who had tried to drive 
him out of school, and might it not be best if 
that satisfied him? Discord on the team was a 
serious misfortune, and only for Eliot’s persist- 
ence he would have taken himself away already. 

“Roger is a fine fellow,” he whispered. “He’s 
a friend worth having. Still, in order to show 
his friendliness toward me, he should not pro- 
duce disruption on the eleven. For the good of 
the school I must withdraw.” 

He went out for a walk in the open air. Pass- 
ing the post office, he saw in the light which shone 
from the open door Berlin Barker and Bernard 
Hayden talking together. 

“Barker stands by Hayden,” he muttered, 
“and I suppose there are others.” 

He did not sleep well that night; he was dis- 
turbed by dreams, in which he lived over again 
that desperate struggle with his malignant enemy 


146 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

— the struggle that had brought upon him the 
great trouble of his life. 

Saturday morning Ben sought Roger Eliot at 
the latter’s home and was given a hearty wel- 
come. Roger invited him in, but the visitor pre- 
ferred not to enter, and they went into the gar- 
age, where Urian Eliot kept his big touring car. 

“She’s a beaut, Ben,” said Roger, admiring 
the polished, glittering automobile; “but father 
is queer and won’t let me drive it. He had to 
discharge our chauffeur ; the man drank. It’s a 
shame for the car to be hung up just now, with 
the roads in elegant condition. I can drive a car 
as well as any one, but I have to consider my 
father’s whims. If we get hold of another chauf- 
feur before the season is over, I’ll take you out 
for a ride that you’ll enjoy.” 

Ben flushed; there was no halfway business 
about Roger, who had taken his stand and was 
ready to let every one know that he regarded 
Stone as a worthy friend. Ben had never set 
foot in an automobile, and the promise of a ride 
in Mr. Eliot’s fine car gave him a thrill. 


THE BONE OF CONTENTION 147 

“Thank you,” he said; “I know I shall enjoy 
it.” 

He found it difficult to introduce the topic 
which had led him there, but presently he suc- 
ceeded, and Roger listened calmly to his argu- 
ment. 

“Stone,” said the captain of the eleven, “you're 
not looking at this matter from the proper angle. 
I've told Hayden what I think of a fellow who 
would allow personal prejudice to lead him into 
deserting his team. Hayden wants to be captain 
next year, and he will be if he stands by the 
team. Otherwise, some one else will be elected. 
He'll think this over when he cools down, and I 
prophesy that he will come back. It would be 
a mistake for you to quit now, for it would 
weaken my authority. Why, Hayden would be 
the man who was running the team, not I. I 
want you out for practice this afternoon. By 
Monday, perhaps, Bern will come to his senses.” 

Roger was indeed a grim and determined fel- 
low, and Ben was finally compelled to yield to his 
judgment. * ? 

That afternoon, however, Barker, as well as 


148 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

Hayden, failed to come out for practice. This 
made it necessary to use two substitute half- 
backs, in neither of whom the boys had any con- 
fidence whatever. On the whole the practice was 
of the most unsatisfactory sort, and, if possible, 
Stone appeared at greater disadvantage than 
ever, something caused almost wholly by his 
knowledge that he was a “bone of contention” 
and his firm belief that the majority of the boys 
were greatly displeased by the trouble he had 
caused. 

On his way home he was in a downcast mood 
when Spotty Davis overtook him. Spotty had 
suddenly betrayed an unwelcome inclination to 
extreme friendliness. 

“Oh, cheer up,” he said. “You ain’t to blame. 
Of course Hayden’s pretty sore, but Roger is 
bound to have his way, and he won’t give in to 
anybody.” 

“That’s it,” said Ben; “I feel like an intruder. 
I feel that I’m doing positive harm to the team. 
Why didn’t Barker come out?” 

“Oh, he’s one of Bern’s friends, and I guess 
he’s going to stand by him. It will be pretty 


THE BONE OF CONTENTION 149 

hard luck to lose ’em both. I dunno how Roger’s 
ever going to fill their places.” 

“I’m breaking up the team,” muttered Ben. 
“I’d like to play football, but ” 

“Most of the fellers don’t seem to think you’d 
ever be much of a player,” grinned Spotty frank- 
ly. “Now if we was going to lose Bern and you 
could fill his place, it would be different. Any- 
how, mebbe Hayden and Barker will come back 
when the coach gets here. Roger says he’s going 
to wire for him to-night. He’s got enough 
money pledged.” 

“It will give me no more pleasure than it will 
Hayden to play on the same team,” declared Ben; 
“but I’d be willing to do anything for the good 
of the school. That’s why I thought I hadn’t 
better play. I’m not anxious to make trouble.” 

“Bern says you’ve always been a trouble maker. 
Oh, he’s got it in for you, all right. But you’ve 
won a lap on him, the best he can do. It’s bitter 
medicine for him to swaller. He tried to down 
you, and he’d done it, all right, if you hadn’t put 
yourself on top by defending Amy Eliot. That 
was lucky for you. Urian Eliot has got about as 


iso BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

much pull as anybody "round these parts. You 
just better let things simmer along, and they’ll 
come out all right.” 

Nevertheless, Spotty’s words added to Stone’s 
disquietude of mind, for he also believed that the 
loss of Hayden from the team— to say nothing of 
Barker — could not be compensated for. 

Sunday passed quietly. Not having a suit of 
clothes to satisfy him, Ben did not attend church. 
He spent much of the day with Jimmy, and was 
invited to supper by Mrs. Jones, who had heard 
all about his bravery and persisted in talking of 
it. Mamie, however, snubbed him mercilessly. 

When Roger appeared at school on Monday 
morning he informed the boys that he had heard 
from Win ton, who would arrive early enough in 
the afternoon to begin the work of coaching that 
day. He even took particular pains to tell 
Hayden. 

“I’m not at all interested in your team, Eliot,” 
said Bern repellently. 

“My team,” cried Roger — “mine? Why, you 
ought to be as much interested in it as I am. I 


THE BONE OF CONTENTION 151 

took you for a fellow who would be loyal 
and ” 

Hayden cut him short. “I don't want to hear 
any more of that talk from you. You'll find me 
loyal enough to the team when you do what I ask 
of you. If you don't do it, I doubt if you'll have 
any team in another week." 

That night in addition to Hayden and Barker 
there were two other deserters, Rollins and Sage. 
Eliot was compelled to explain the situation to 
the coach. Winton listened and asked a few 
questions. In the end he advised Roger to drop 
Ben Stone. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE EEEEOW WHO WOUEDnY YlEED. 

Through the mail that night Roger received a 
letter from Jack Merwin, captain and manager 
of the Clearport eleven, which he read ere leav- 
ing the post office. The letter was as follows: 

‘‘Mr. Roger Eeiot, 

“Capt. Oakdale Academy Football Team, 
“Dear Sir: — 

“Replying to yours of the 13th regarding the 
scheduling of one or more games between Oak- 
dale and Clearport, would say that we have an 
open date on next Saturday, the 29th, and will 
play you here in Clearport if you care to come. 
After the usual custom, we will, of course, de- 
fray the expenses of the visiting team. I trust 
you will inform me without delay whether or 
not this proposal is acceptable to you. 

“Yours truly, 

“John Merwin, Capt. Clearport Eleven.” 

With the letter still in his hand, Roger met 
Sam Rollins on the postoffice steps. Hunk would 

152 


FELLOW WHO WOULDN’T YIELD 153 

have hurried on into the building, but Eliot 
stopped him. 

“Look here, Rollins,” he questioned. “I want 
to know why you failed to come out for practice 
to-day?” 

Hunk shrugged his thick shoulders. “Why, I 
— I had some work to do,” he faltered. 

“Did you, indeed? How long since you have 
become ambitious to work? You know, accord- 
ing to your reputation, you never lift a hand to 
do any labor if you can avoid it.” 

“Ho!” grunted Rollins. “That’s all right. 
Sometimes a feller has to do some things.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t coming 
out to the field? You should have given me no- 
tice, and you could have done so without any 
trouble at all.” 

“I didn’t think of it,” lied Hunk. 

“You know better than that, Rollins. At any 
rate, you should have thought of it. You were 
told that our new coach would be on hand, and 
you knew well enough that I wanted every man 
out at the field.” 


154 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“Was I the only one who didn't come?" asked 
the fellow, with a leer. 

The grim expression of Roger's face did not 
change in the least. “I'm talking to you about 
what you did, and not speaking of the acts of 
any one else. I shall say what I have to say di- 
rectly to them, as I do to you." 

“Well, what are you going to do about it if I 
don't come out?" was Hunk's insolent question. 

“I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Rollins, 
and you'd better pay close attention. You're not 
such a valuable man to the team that any one 
would think of chasing you up and coaxing you. 
Your place can be filled, and it will be filled if 
you play any more such tricks." 

“Oh, perhaps you can fill the places of some 
other fellers." 

“Perhaps so; but, as I just remarked, I'm tell- 
ing you what will happen in your individual case. 
If you want to play on the academy eleven, you’ll 
come out for practice regularly, or you'll give a 
good and sufficient excuse in case you can't ap- 
pear — and give it in advance, too. If you're not 


FELLOW WHO WOULDN’T YIELD 155 

at the field to-morrow afternoon when practice 
begins you’ll be dropped for good.” 

“Say, you’re a regular autocrat, ain’t ye? 
You’re going to try to run things your way with 
an iron hand, ain’t ye ? Mebbe you’ll find 
out ” 

“That’s enough. You’ve heard all I have to 
say. Think it over. If you don’t come out to- 
morrow night it won’t be any great loss to the 
team.” With which Eliot left Rollins there on 
tfie steps, muttering and growling beneath his 
breath. 

At the very next corner Roger saw a fellow 
who had been coming toward him cross over sud- 
denly to the opposite side of the street, which 
was darker. He recognized the figure and move- 
ments of Fred Sage, the quarter back, who had 
likewise absented himself without excuse or ex- 
planation of any sort. 

“Sage,” he called sharply, “I’m looking for 
you.” 

The fellow paused, and then slowly recrossed 
the street toward the determined captain of the 
eleven. 


156 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“That you, Roger ?" he asked in pretended 
surprise. “I didn't recognize you." 

Eliot despised him for the prevarication and 
was tempted to give him the same advice about 
lying that he had given Rollins. Instead of that, 
however, he asked: 

“Have you decided not to play football this 
season ?" 

“Why — why, no," stammered Fred. “How'd 
you get that idea?" 

“You weren't at the field this afternoon, and 
I told you our coach would be there, for which 
reason I desired every man to be on hand. You 
are filling an important position on the team. 
Of course we have a substitute who can take 
your place if you are injured in a game, but that 
will make it necessary to shift the line-up. If 
you have any thought of quitting, I want to know 
it now." 

Sage shifted his weight from one foot to the 
other and twisted his heel into the ground. Twice 
he started to speak; twice he stopped; then he 
suddenly blurted : 


FELLOW WHO WOULDN’T YIELD 157 

“You’ll have trouble finding substitutes for all 
the fellows who didn’t come out to-day.” 

“So that’s it,” said Roger. “I’m glad you 
didn’t make the same excuse as Hunk Rollins — 
didn’t claim you had work to do. Sage, the acad- 
emy football team will not be broken up by the 
underhand work of any one, nor do I propose to 
knuckle to the man who is seeking by such con- 
temptible methods to force my hand. Don’t pre- 
tend that you don’t know what I mean, for you 
do. If I yielded in this case, any fellow who had 
a grudge against another chap might try the 
same picyunish, selfish, discipline-wrecking trick. 
A chap who is so unpatriotic that he will quit his 
team because he had a personal grudge against 
some fellow on it is of no real value to the team 
anyhow ; and when he seeks to lead others to fol- 
low his example he’s worse than a traitor. You 
have lived in Oakdale long enough to know that 
I have influence and a following, and I’ll tell you 
now that I’m not going to be whipped into line 
by the fellow who is trying to force me to yield 
to him. No matter how much the team is weak- 
ened by deserters, it will go ahead and play foot- 


158 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

ball — it will do so even if we don’t win a game 
this season. I would like to see you at the field 
for practice to-morrow afternoon, but you’ll not 
be asked again to come out. Good night.” 

Sage stood there looking after Eliot as the lat- 
ter’s sturdy figure melted into the darkness. 

“By Jove !” he muttered. “Roger means it, and 
when he makes up his mind in that fashion noth- 
ing in the world can change him. He has all of 
old Urian Eliot’s stubbornness. Bern never can 
make him bend.” 

Eliot contemplated seeking Berlin Barker next, 
but suddenly he decided to go straight to Hayden 
himself. He arrived at the latter’s home just as 
Bern was bidding Barker good night. Berlin 
looked a trifle startled as the captain of the eleven 
appeared, but into Hayden’s eyes there sprang a 
light of satisfaction; for he fancied Eliot had 
come to temporize, possibly to plead. 

“Good evening. Glad to see you, old fellow,” 
he said with pretended friendliness. “Berlin and 
I have just been having a little chat. Won’t you 
come up to my room ?” 

“Yes,” said Roger. 


FELLOW WHO WOULDN’T YIELD 159 

Once in Hayden’s room, the visitor did not beat 
about the bush in the least. He declined to sit 
down. Facing the dark-eyed youth, who regard- 
ed him expectantly, he spoke deliberately and 
with a grimness that gave assurance of his un- 
alterable resolution. 

“Hayden, I can’t find words to express my 
contempt of the methods to which you have re- 
sorted. I’ve something to say to you, and I hope 
you’ll not interrupt me. You have succeeded in 
leading your friends and certain weak-kneed fel- 
lows to follow your lead in failing to come out 
for practice. There are four of you, all told. I 
doubt if there’s another fellow in Oakdale who 
can be induced to do such a thing, and I’m sure 
there can’t be more than one or two. I’m not 
asking anything of you; play your cards to the 
limit. However, I’m going to tell you precisely 
what will happen. When you have won all the 
followers possible, there will still be enough fel- 
lows left to make up a team, and that team will go 
ahead and play through the present season. 
Doubtless you will weaken it, and the record may 
not be one to be proud of ; but your record will 


i6o BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

be still more shameful. I’m dead sure that the 
majority of the fellows will back me up. You are 
looking to be chosen captain of the team for 
next season. What chance do you think you will 
stand if you persist in your dirty work? Yes, 
that's what I call it — dirty work. Why, you 
won't even be a member of the team, and it would 
be impossible to elect a man outside the team for 
captain next year." 

By this time Hayden's face was pallid with 
rage and his eyes glowing. He trembled a little, 
and his voice shook as he retorted: 

■ “You seem to fancy yourself a perfect czar, 
Roger. Have you got an idea that you alone can 
throw me off the team? Answer me that." 

“If you leave the team it won't be necessary 
to throw you off ; you'll take yourself off by your 
own act." 

“You know why I refuse to play. You're the 
one who is weakening the team by insisting on re- 
taining that miserable " 

“It won't do you any good to slur Ben Stone, 
and I don't think you'd better call him names be- 


FELLOW WHO WOULDN’T YIELD 161 


fore me. Of course I wouldn’t put a hand on you 

here in your own home, but ” 

“Great Caesar ! you’re threatening me, Eliot.” 
“Stone will remain on the team, Hayden; you 
may as well make up your mind to that. If you 
haven’t manhood enough to come back and work 
for the team, you’re not worthy to be on it. 
You’re going to find it a losing fight, my boy; 
you may hurt me, but you’ll hurt yourself far 
more. The poorer record the team makes with- 
out you and your friends, the more you’ll be 
blamed when the season is ended. Think that 
over. It’s all I have to say.” 

Without' even adding good night, Roger left 
the room, descended the stairs and passed out of 
the house. 


CHAPTER XVI. 
stone's defiance. 

It is almost impossible to describe the mental 
condition of Bernard Hayden immediately after 
Roger's departure. Resentful wrath nearly 
choked him, and for a few moments he raged 
against Eliot like a lunatic. Even when he grew 
calmer outwardly, the fierce tumult in his heart 
continued. 

“How dare that fellow come here and talk to 
me in such a fashion!" he snarled, pacing the 
floor of his room ; “how dare he ! So he's going 
to stand by Stone at any cost ! Judging by what 
I've heard about him, he's just mule enough to 
do it, too. I presume he's right in believing he 
has pull enough with the fellows to carry the 
thing through. I've got to down Stone, and I 
will; but I can't afford to hurt myself while I'm 
about it, and, with Eliot taking the stand he vows 
162 


s STONE’S DEFIANCE 163 

he will take, it will be necessary for me to try 
other tactics. I hate to give in a whit, and Til 
only seem to do so, in order that I may adopt 
some other plan — some plan that can’t possibly 
fail. Perhaps you think you have me nipped, 
Mr. Eliot, but at any cost I’ll win eventually.” 

The following morning, watched by Jimmy, 
Stone was mending a broken swing in the or- 
chard behind Mrs. Jones’ house when, looking up, 
he discovered Bern Hayden standing not twenty 
feet away. Their glances met and clashed, and, 
startled by the strange look on Ben’s face, Jimmy 
glanced round, discovering the frowning, dark- 
faced intruder. 

“Oh!” gasped the little chap nervously. “I 
didn’t hear nobody coming.” 

Ben had straightened up to his full height. 
His stout shoulders were squared, his feet plant- 
ed firmly, and he fronted his foe without a symp- 
tom of quailing. He had felt that this time must 
come, but now the dread of it passed from him 
instantly, and he was almost frightened by that 
feeling of eager fierceness and uncontrollable 
rage which had possessed him in the hour when 


1 64 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

he was led to wreak physical violence on Hayden 
for the destruction of little Jerry’s fiddle. Slowly 
and unconsciously he lifted his hand and touched 
his mutilated ear. 

Bern, seeing that movement, flushed until his 
face took on a purplish tinge. 

“It would have been a good thing,” he said in 
a harsh voice, “if in self-defense I had struck 
more effectively.” 

Every nerve in Stone’s body seemed to vibrate. 
Without looking at the lame boy, who had begun 
to creep toward him, he said : 

“Jimmy, you had better go into the house. I’ve 
some private business to transact with this per- 
son.” 

The little lad hesitated a few steps away. 
“Ben,” he whispered, “oh, Ben, I’m afraid!” 

“Go into the house, please,” urged Stone ; and, 
with many fearful backward glances, Jimmy 
limped away. 

For yet some moments they continued to stare, 
those two who hated each other with all the in- 
tensity of their natures. If stabbing eyes could 


STONE’S DEFIANCE 165 

have killed, both would have sunk, mortally 
wounded, beneath the orchard trees. 

“What do you want?'’ 

It was Stone who asked the question. With a 
start, Hayden advanced a few steps, but he 
stopped while yet well beyond reach of the other 
lad’s powerful hands. As he noted that Bern 
was disinclined to come nearer, something like a 
hideous smile momentarily contorted Stone’s un- 
comely face. 

“As I was passing I saw you here,” said Bern, 
“and I decided to tell you just what you’re doing. 
You’re ruining the Oakdale football team, for 
there are a number of decent fellows who abso- 
lutely refuse to play on the same eleven with 
you.” 

“Decent fellows!” scoffed Ben. “Your friends! 
If they knew you for what you are, as I do, the 
least decent among them would have nothing to 
do with you.” 

“Eliot is mulish, and, having taken a stand, he 
dislikes to turn back; but I know — and others 
know — that he would rejoice to be rid of you. 
You would realize it yourself if you were not so 


1 66 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


dull. Of course he tells you he wants you to 
play, for since you protected his sister he feels 
that he can’t do anything else. You saw last 
night that the fellows are quitting the team. It’s 
because you’re on it, and besides those who have 
already quit there will be others. I’m in a posi- 
tion to know just how they all feel about it, and 
unless you take yourself off it won’t be long be- 
fore Eliot will have no team behind him. You 
can’t play football, anyhow.” 

It was this final taunt that brought Stone’s re- 
tort. “I can play as well as you, Hayden, and 
I’ll prove it, too. In Hilton you always had your 
own way, but you can’t in Oakdale. You helped 
break my mother’s heart; you disfigured me for 
life, and you drove me, an outcast, from Hilton. 
Here, assisted by your cold-blooded, heartless old 
father, you tried your best to get me turned out 
of school and to force me in disgrace from the 
town. You failed in that, just as henceforth 
you’ll fail in all your vile schemes. I was com- 
pelled to run from you once, but I’ll never do so 
again, Hayden. I’ll never turn my back on you ; 


STONE'S DEFIANCE 167 

I'll fight you to the finish, and may the best man 
win.” 

"By which, I presume, you mean that you’re 
going to stick on the team?” 

"I’m going to stick on the team ; I’m going to 
stick in the school; I’m going to stick right here; 
and for all of you I’ll come out on top.” 

It was a flat defiance, and at last Hayden real- 
ized that mere words alone would be quite as 
potent to move a mountain. 

"Very well,” cried Bern, "then you’ll have to 
take the consequences, you — you son of a ” 

"Stop ! My father is dead — murdered — an in- 
nocent man. It will not be safe for you ever 
again to utter a slur against him in my hearing.” 

The threat in the speaker’s face was far more 
effective than in his words, and Bern Hayden did 
not complete the interrupted sentence. Turning, 
he walked swiftly away, followed by the eyes of 
the lad he had failed to intimidate. 

Spotty Davis, leaning on the orchard fence, 
had been watching them for some moments. Hay- 
den scarcely noticed Spotty as he passed, and 
Davis grinned at Ben, to whom he called: 


1 68 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“Come on, Stoney, let’s toddle up to the acad. 
You’ll be late if you don’t come along now.” 

A strange calmness had come over Ben Stone. 
This had taken the place of the wrath that had 
burned in his veins, and now he felt that he was 
indeed master of himself. And whoever masters 
himself may likewise master fate. 

“You’n Bern are gittin’ kinder friendly, ain’t 
yer ?” chuckled Spotty, as Ben came out. “Sorter 
surprised me to see him makin’ a mornin’ call on 
you.” 

As he passed through the academy gate, Hay- 
den glanced back and saw Stone and Davis com- 
ing. A strange look flashed swiftly across his 
face, and the words which he muttered no one 
save himself could have understood had they 
heard them. 

That night Roger Eliot noted with satisfaction 
that Fred Sage was promptly on hand at the foot- 
ball field. Hunk Rollins likewise put in an ap- 
pearance; and, to complete Eliot’s triumph, both 
Barker and Hayden arrived before practice 
began. 

There were others who took notice of these 


STONE’S DEFIANCE 169 

things, and Sleuth Piper, whispering mysterious- 
ly in Chub Tuttle’s ear, observed: 

“My deduction is that Capt. Eliot has put on 
the screws and brought the delinquents to time. 
The before-mentioned delinquents have come 
trotting up to the dough dish as gentle as lambs, 
and ” 

“Lambs don’t like dough,” said Chub. “Your 
figures of speech are shocking, Sleuth.” 

“Mebbe so,” said Piper. “Gimme a peanut, 
will you?” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


AN ARM£D TRUCE). 

At practice that night Stone astonished every- 
body, even himself. All hesitation and doubt 
seemed to have left him, and at everything he 
attempted he was amazingly sure and so swift 
that not a few of the boys who had fancied him 
heavy and awkward gasped with astonishment 
and confessed to one another that they had 
“sized him up wrong.” Those who had fancied 
him dull of wit were also led to wonder over the 
rapidity with which he seemed to grasp and un- 
derstand every suggestion of the coach. He was 
able to catch punts on the dead run ; when he 
fell on the ball he got it cleanly, never once per- 
mitting it to bound away from him ; and he could 
kick, too, his sturdy right leg sending the pig- 
skin sailing far through the air. 

Bern Hayden likewise practiced well, putting 
170 


AN ARMED TRUCE 


171 

all his usual snap and dash into everything he 
did, his accomplishments plainly demonstrating 
why he had been generally singled out as the fel- 
low who would certainly be chosen as captain of 
next year’s team. Of them all he was, perhaps, 
the only one who gave no attention to Stone; as 
far as he was concerned — outwardly, at least — 
Ben did not exist. 

All this was most encouraging and stimulating 
to Capt. Eliot and the others. The coach, who 
on the previous night had felt greatly disappoint- 
ed in the material from which he had hoped to 
build a clever high school eleven, betrayed his 
relief and satisfaction by the altered expression 
of his face and the change in his manner. In 
fact, every one seemed happy, and possibly, with 
the exception of Hayden, every one was. 

With remarkable craft Bern masked his feel- 
ings. He did not even betray the wrath that 
stirred his soul when, standing a short distance 
away, he heard Dash Winton say to Eliot: 

“I think I was mistaken about that chap Stone. 
I fancied he wasn’t much good, but I’ve changed 
my mind since watching him work to-night. He 


172 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

ought to make one of the most valuable men on 
the team.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” returned the captain; 
“for we certainly need him to stiffen the line.” 

“To-morrow night,” said Winton, “we must 
have enough fellows out here to make up a scrub 
team for a practice game. You’ll need all that 
kind of work you can get if you’re going to play 
next Saturday.” 

Hayden and Barker left the field together. 
“Peace has spread itself like oil upon the troubled 
waters,” observed Berlin, with a faint smile. 
“Too bad you had to give in, but I suppose it 
was the only thing you could do.” 

His companion’s dark eyes flashed him a look. 
“If you fancy I’ve given in you don’t know me. 
I’ve never yet been downed, Barker.” 

“But you had to give up your plan for bringing 
Eliot to time.” 

“That’s all right. A good general who sees 
one of his movements blocked changes promptly 
to another style of campaign.” 

“Then you’ve another scheme in view?” 


AN ARMED TRUCE 173 

“I always believe in keeping a few cards up 
my sleeve.” 

Bern betrayed no disposition to show these 
cards even to his friend, and Barker refrained 
from asking questions he felt might not be an- 
swered, being confident that in good time Hay- 
den would let him into the secret. 

To every one else, as the days slipped by and 
Bern made no move, it seemed that something 
like a truce had been mutually agreed upon. To 
be sure, it might be an armed truce in which both 
parties were patiently waiting the time when the 
certain course of events would again bring open 
warfare; for never in all that time did the two 
bitter enemies betray, even by a look, that either 
recognized the existence of the other. In foot- 
ball practice, when necessary, they worked to- 
gether harmoniously enough for the accomplish- 
ment of the plays in which they were involved. 
It frequently happened that Stone, breaking 
through the line of the scrub, became a part of 
the interference which assisted Hayden in ad- 
vancing the ball, and always he was an effective 
part of it. Both Winton and Eliot arrived at 


174 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

the conviction that one of the team’s best ground 
gaining plays would be that in which Stone and 
Piper opened a hole between the opposing guard 
and tackle to let Hayden through. 

On Thursday the coach requested that the gate 
of the field should be closed and guarded to keep 
out the throng of spectators who were eager to 
watch the practice, and that night, having 
strengthened the scrub, he kept the regular team 
working constantly on the defensive; for he 
claimed that a good defensive game was fully 
as essential as an offensive one. 

Saturday came at last, and at ten-thirty in the 
forenoon the players were at the railway station 
to take the train for Clearport. Quite a crowd 
gathered to see them off and cheer them heartily, 
while about a dozen of the scholars, including 
several girls, all bearing banners, accompanied 
them. 

On the train Hayden and Barker sat together 
and took little part in the general conversation. 
Even when Clearport was reached and the arri- 
vals were welcomed by Capt. Merwin and a dele- 
gation, this pair held themselves aloof, finally 


AN ARMED TRUCE 


175 

walking up to the hotel behind the rest of the 
crowd. And at dinner, coming late, Bern and 
Berlin sat at a separate table, having made ar- 
rangements in advance with the head waiter. 

Eliot did not wholly hide his displeasure over 
this, for he had expected that the players, the sub- 
stitutes and the coach would all sit at one long 
table. Nor did the distant pair betray any inter- 
est in the jests and laughter of their teammates. 

Dinner over, Winton had a private word with 
Roger. “As an exhibition of snobbishness/' he 
said disgustedly, “that was the limit. If you don't 
look out, Eliot, those fellows will yet make trou- 
ble for you." 

“There’s only one," returned the captain, “who 
is at all dangerous, and I have an idea he realizes 
he can't afford to make any real trouble. Of 
course I don't like the spirit he displays, but he's 
such a valuable man that I presume we'll have to 
put up with it." 

The hour for the game drew near at last. It 
was a bright, snappy day, with a strong wester- 
ly wind blowing, and when the Oakdale lads ar- 
rived at the field they found quite a crowd al- 


176 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

ready assembled, while a steady stream of people 
came pouring in. Not a few persons from Oak- 
dale had come over the road in teams and auto- 
mobiles, and the most of these were gathered in 
a group on the seats at the southern side of the 
gridiron. With a cheer they welcomed the ap- 
pearance of Eliot and his followers. 

That cheer gave Ben Stone a tingling thrill; 
he seemed to feel that a little of it was meant for 
him. This thrill was intensified as he heard them 
crying : 

“There’s Roger!” “Good boy, Eliot!” “There’s 
Bern!” 

“What’s your deduction about this game, 
Sleuth?” 

“Got any peanuts, Chub?” 

Then suddenly some one cried distinctly: 

“Look at Stone! ’Rah for old Stoney!” 

They shed their sweaters. A ball was tossed 
out, and immediately they began passing, punt- 
ing and falling upon it. And now Stone, pain- 
fully self-conscious, fumbled. When, a moment 
or two later, the pigskin came bounding his way 
over the ground, he flung himself at it only to 


AN ARMED TRUCE 


177 


have it squirm out of his grasp and spin off to 
one side. He rose, his face crimson, realizing 
that something was the matter. 

A hand touched him lightly on the shoulder, 
and Eliot’s voice sounded in his ear. 

“All right, Stone, old man; don’t mind the 
crowd. Forget it.” 

That was the matter; he knew it in a twin- 
kling. Getting a grip on himself, he became 
steady and sure. 

Presently he found himself, with others, 
watching the two captains who had stepped aside 
to consult with the referee. For a moment his 
eyes roved over the scene. On one side of the 
field the seats were already well filled. A mass of 
blue banners indicated where the scholars of 
Clearport High were grouped. At the south the 
crowd was thinner and the crimson banners of 
Oakdale were not so plentiful. East and west the 
goal posts rose against the sky. Between those 
posts the regular white chalk marks made a huge 
checkerboard. 

Oh, it was a fine thing to be living! And it was 
a marvel indeed to be there, a member of one of 


178 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

those two teams of healthy, brown-faced lads 
who would soon be struggling for supremacy on 
that field. 

His eyes came back to the two captains and 
the referee. He saw the latter toss into the air 
something that spun and glittered brightly. He 
saw all three stoop to observe how the coin had 
fallen. Then Eliot slapped Merwin on the shoul- 
der, said something, turned and came trotting 
toward his comrades. 

“Come on, fellows,” called Roger; “I won the 
toss. We’ll take the western goal and have both 
wind and sun at our backs.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE GAME. 

Plunk! Clearport’s full back, Ramsdal, kicked 
off, booting the ball into the teeth of the wind. 
Over the chalk marks sped the end men, Long 
and Stoker, closing in from either side as the 
huge yellow egg began to drop. 

Bern Hayden was in position to receive the 
ball, and, without removing his eyes from it, he 
realized that one or both of those oncoming men 
would be at hand to tackle him if he attempted 
to run. Therefore he lifted his hand in the 
proper signal for a fair catch and took the pig- 
skin cleanly. Turning it deftly in his hands, he 
let it drop; and an instant later it was sailing 
away from his toe on the return to Clearport’s 
territory. 

Buoyed by the wind, the ball soared on and on 
far past the center of the field, far over toward 
179 


i8o BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


the eastern goal. It was immediately apparent 
that the home team, while defending that goal, 
could not afford to be led into a kicking game. 

Cooper and Davis, playing ends for the visi- 
tors, followed the ball. Spotty was a really fast 
runner, being able to get over the ground with 
his thin legs in a way that should have given him 
a reputation as a sprinter. This fleetness put 
him in splendid position to tackle Boothby, Clear- 
port’s left half back, who took the ball ; but Spotty 
seemed to hesitate a bit at the moment when he 
should have plunged, and Boothby got away like 
a flash, Davis missing miserably when he flung 
himself at the fellow. Cooper, the slower, dis- 
played more nerve, tackling the fleet half back 
and bringing him down after the ball had been 
advanced ten yards. Chipper rose, gasping, when 
the whistle had sounded the signal that the ball 
was “down.” 

“Ja-jarred me some,” he stammered, with a 
sickly grin ; “but I got him.” 

“Ready — line up fast !” called Eliot, perceiving 
that the enemy were swiftly getting into position 
for the first scrimmage. “Stop ’em ! Hold ’em !” 


THE GAME 


181 


Ben Stone found himself crouching nose to 
nose with Barney Carney, called “the fighting 
Irishman of Clearport.” He had been told about 
this fellow, and he recognized him instinctively. 

“Arrh, me bucko! Good avening, ,, grinned 
Carney. “It’s a pleasure to meet yez.” 

Through Stone's mind flashed the instructions 
of Winton, “Stick by your man and get him 
every time.” 

Muzzle uplifted, Capt. Merwin, who played 
quarter for his team, bayed a signal. Stone saw 
the ball snapped to Merwin, and the moment it 
left the ground he leaped tigerishly at Carney. 
The Irishman had leaped at the same instant, and 
they came together with a crash which must have 
astonished the Clearport guard, for he was liter- 
ally bowled aside, the Oakdale man hammering 
through like a battering-ram. Sleuth Piper, suc- 
ceeding in keeping his man busy, aided Stone in 
getting through; and Ben was just in time to 
meet Boothby, who had received the ball from 
Merwin and was plunging at that very spot in 
the line. Boothby's rush was checked as if he 
had struck a wall of granite, and down to the turf 


182 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

he went, with Stone’s arms locked around his 
thighs. 

“Great luck !” cried Piper, releasing Morehead ; 
but there had been little luck about it, for even 
as he lunged at Carney Stone had seen Boothby 
shooting across behind Merwin in a manner 
which seemed to indicate beyond doubt that he 
would take the ball. Having obeyed the instruc- 
tions of the coach and disposed of Carney in a 
jiffy, Stone’s natural impulse was to meet and 
grapple with Boothby. 

At the southern side of the field the crimson 
banners were wildly agitated, and a sudden cheer 
arose — a cheer for Stone. Ben’s ears were deaf 
to that sound, however; he was wholly unaware 
that his name came snapping forth at the end 
of that cheer like a cracker at the end of a whip- 
lash. The fire of battle was in his veins, and the 
only thing he heard was the booming of his heart 
like the distant throbbing of heavy guns. 

Checked with a slight loss, the Clearporters 
made ready again. Once more Ben found him- 
self vis a vis with Barney Carney, in whose faded 
smile there was now a slight sickly tinge. 


THE GAME 


183 

“It’s a loively birrud ye are,” observed Carney ; 
“but your wings can be clipped.” To which the 
grim-faced fellow opposite made no retort. 

The signal came again, and again Stone and 
Carney met. This time, locked together, they 
struggled, neither gaining the slightest advan- 
tage. The tide of battle, however, swept to the 
far end of the line, toward which Oakes, the right 
half back, was racing with the pigskin. 

It was Hayden who divined the play, and 
Hayden who came leaping to meet the runner. 
Tackling cleanly and handsomely, Bern stretched 
Oakes prone. As he rose he heard them cheer- 
ing as they had cheered for Stone — and he had 
not missed that. 

“That’s the stuff, fellows !” cried Roger. 
“That’s the way to hold them !” 

Winton, watching from his position at the side 
of the field, permitted a crinkle of a smile to flit 
across his face, even though he realized that the 
splendid and surprising defense had been accom- 
plished, almost unaided, by two players. At the 
very outset Clearport had succeeded in one thing, 
at least — had found the strong spots of the visit- 


1 84 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

in g team. Later certain weak spots which the 
coach was fearful of might be unmasked. 

In desperation the locals made a furious slam 
into center, recovering, however, barely the dis- 
tance lost; and then, forced to it, Ramsdal fell 
back to kick. Eliot was ready for this, and, seem- 
ing to gauge the distance the ball would travel, 
he took it cleanly and easily, shooting past the 
first man who came at him, dodging the second, 
and bringing the spectators to their feet by a run 
that carried him to Clearport’s thirty yard line 
ere he was forced out of bounds. And Winton 
smiled again, for another tower of strength had 
loomed through the smoke of battle. 

The referee brought the ball out and placed it. 
The line-up followed, one or two anxious Clear- 
porters being warned back ere the man in au- 
thority permitted the resumption of play. 

Crouching before Carney, Stone heard Sage 
calling the signal. As his ears drank in the 
numbers, he gazed straight into the Irish lad’s 
eyes without a flicker crossing his face, even 
though he knew directly that much would depend 
upon him. He knew Hayden would come across 


THE GAME 185 

with the ball, looking for the opening he must 
assist in making. 

In another moment they were straining, breast 
to breast. With all his strength he sought to 
thrust Carney to one side. Cooper bucked More- 
head handsomely, and the gap was made. 
Through it went Barker, with Bern at his heels. 
Barker sacrificed himself to Oakes, and before 
Ramsdal got him Hayden came within four yards 
of putting the ball over. 

Four yards to go, and the first down! No 
wonder the crowd with the crimson banners 
seemed crazed ; no wonder the blue banners were 
drooping on the northern side of the field. 

“Like water through a sieve/’ chuckled Chip- 
per Cooper; and barely had the words left his 
lips when Sage began calling a signal which sent 
Barker into the other wing of the line. 

^Crane did his duty there, but Davis was weak, 
and Berlin met Stoker, who had hurled Spotty 
aside. Not an inch was gained. 

“Hold ’em,” implored Merwin, “we’ve got to 
hold ’em!” 


1 86 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“Another chance, fellows,” said Eliot. “We 
can make it.” 

Again that signal which told the visitors that 
Hayden would try the enemy’s right wing. Sage 
varied the call, but the key number was distinctly 
heard, and with the snapping of the ball Ben 
Stone flung himself bodily at the fighting Irish- 
man. Merwin had leaped in to support Carney, 
yet both of them were not sufficient to check 
Stone and the man who was hurled against him 
from the rear. The Clearport line buckled and 
broke, and Hayden lunged through headlong for 
a touchdown. 

“My deduction is,” panted Piper, “that it’s a 
snap.” 

The Oakdale crowd cheered as the ball was 
punted out. Hayden was given the privilege of 
trying to kick a goal, and, absolutely confident of 
himself, he booted the ball against one of the 
uprights. 

“Never mind,” grinned Chipper Cooper, as the 
Oakdalers spread out on the field with their backs 
toward the eastern goal. “It would have been 


THE GAME 187 

a shame to spoil the fun by taking all the sand 
out of them right away.” 

Indeed, it seemed that the visitors were too 
strong for the home team. Even when favored 
by the wind and sun, the Clearporters could not 
carry the fighting far into Oakdale’s territory, 
and they were soon compelled to surrender the 
ball by kicking. 

Once more the lads from the inland town be- 
gan bucking their way over the chalk marks, and 
frequently their best gains were secured through 
openings made by Stone and Piper. Barney 
Carney was livid with wrath, but his grim oppo- 
nent remained outwardly unchanged. An end 
run by Barker again placed the visitors in a posi- 
tion to threaten Clearport’s goal. It was followed 
by a trick play, in which Barker drew attention 
to himself while Eliot went romping and zigzag- 
ging through a broken field and crossed the line 
for the second touchdown. 

This time Roger kicked, and he lifted the pig- 
skin squarely over the center of the crossbar. 

Even to Win ton it had begun to seem as if 
Oakdale was too strong for the locals. He was 


1 88 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


glad indeed that Clearport had not yet located 
certain weak spots of which he had entertained 
serious apprehension, but he knew they had not 
done this mainly on account of their half demor- 
alized condition. 

Following that second touchdown, Oakdaie 
seemed to let up somewhat. This brought a 
frown to Winton’s face, but he could do nothing 
until the half was finished. 

Toward the end of the first half the visiting 
team took another spurt and seemed to have 
things pretty much its own way. Hayden was 
the principal ground gainer, and it was Stone 
who provided effective interference in assisting 
him to make his greatest distances. Twenty-five 
yards from the line, however, the locals stood 
firm. Then Sage called for a play by which 
Hayden was to pass the ball to Eliot just before 
dashing into the formation which had proved so 
effective. Eliot was to attempt to round the end. 

This was carried through, Stone slamming into 
Carney in the regular manner. Hayden came at 
him from behind, while Eliot, having secured the 
ball, sought to race past Pete Long. 


THE GAME 189 

Something smote Ben with a terrific shock, and 
a sudden pall of darkness fell upon him. He 
sank to the ground just as Eliot was tackled and 
dragged down and the referee's whistle shrilled 
the signal which told that the half was over. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


BETWKKN thk halves. 

Stone recovered to find some one sopping his 
face with a cool, dripping sponge. They had car- 
ried him off the field, and he was lying on a 
blanket behind the tiered seats, over the upper 
tier of which bent a row of sympathetic faces. 
His teammates were around him, being kept back 
by one or two fellows who insisted that he should 
have air. 

“What — what’s matter?” he mumbled thickly, 
as he tried to sit up. 

“Easy, old fellow,” said the voice of Roger 
Eliot, who had been applying the sponge. “You 
were knocked stiff in that last scrimmage.” 

“Scrimmage?” echoed Ben uncertainly, vague- 
ly fancying he had been in a fight with his bitter 
enemy. “Did Bern Hayden ” 

“It wasn’t Hayden. We tried to fool the Clear- 
190 


BETWEEN THE HALVES 


191 


porters into thinking he'd again go through with 
the ball, but he passed it to me. They downed 
me, though, just as the half ended." 

“Oh,” said Stone, remembering at last, “we 
were playing football.” 

“That fightin' Irishman must have soaked 
ye,” observed Sil Crane. “You had him crazy all 
right, the way you bucked him around.” 

“Carney did not hit me,” declared Ben posi- 
tively. 

Winton, like Eliot, had been working to bring 
Stone round. “Well,” he observed with satisfac- 
tion, “you seem to be all right now. I reckon 
you can get back into the game for the next half, 
can't you?” 

“Sure thing,” was the prompt answer. “I'm 
not hurt any.” 

“That's the stuff,” applauded the coach, rising 
to his feet. “That's the spirit that wins. Some 
of you fellows need a little more of it. Rollins, 
you’re bigger and heavier than that man Hutt, 
but he's walked through you four or five times. 
Brace up and stop him. Davis, you've got to 
show more nerve. Don't be afraid of cracking 


192 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

yourself when you try to tackle; you’re not 
crockery. Look alive, Tuttle, and get into the 
plays quicker. Sometimes you take root in your 
tracks.” 

“Great ginger !” gasped Chub in astonishment 
over this call-down. “I thought we were all 
doing pretty well.” 

“Give him a peanut, somebody, to brace him 
up,” chuckled Chipper Cooper. 

In another moment Chipper was shivering be- 
neath the withering eye of the coach. 

“You’ve got a whole lot to learn about foot- 
ball,” said Winton. “Move your feet when you 
go down the field under a kick. Davis can run 
around you twice and be ahead of you at the 
place where the ball falls.” 

“Oh, jiminy crickets!” gasped Cooper. “I’ve 
got mine ! Stop your grinning, Spotty.” 

“You all let up after that second touchdown,” 
continued Winton. “Did you think you had 
points enough? Have you a notion that there’s 
danger of overexerting yourselves? You should 
have had two more touchdowns, at least. Clear- 
port was growing better toward the last of it, 


BETWEEN THE HALVES 193 

and you fellows acted as if you had caught the 
hookworm. This kind of a football game is 
never won till it's finished, don’t forget that. If 
you quit a little bit in the next half you’re liable 
to get it put all over you. Those fellows are 
good ; they’re better than you are, but they don’t 
know it. Let them wake up to the fact, and you’ll 
be lucky if they don’t play you off your feet. 
You’ve got to keep them so busy they won’t find 
time to realize how good they are. Hayden, I’d 
like a private word with you.” 

With a look of surprise on his face, Bern fol- 
lowed the coach, who stepped aside from the 
others. In a moment Winton was talking to him 
in low tones. 

“By gum !” said Sile Crane. “He sorter hand- 
ed it right out to the whole of us, didn’t he? I 
kinder thought he was goin’ to praise us for our 
fine work.” 

Cooper poked a thumb into Piper’s ribs. “He 
didn’t say anything to you personally, did he, 
Sleuth? Wonder how you got by? Morehead 
had you groggy in that last smash.” 

“Yes,” admitted Sleuth, “we butted our cocoa- 


194 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

nuts together, and my deduction is that he’s got 
more head than I have.” 

“Oh, you villain!” exclaimed Chipper. “You 
trespasser on my sacred preserves! I should 
have thought to say that myself. Look at Bern ; 
he’s getting excited. Wonder what Winton’s 
drilling him for?” 

Hayden was indeed showing traces of excite- 
ment, for his face was flushed, his hands 
clenched, and he shook his head with an air of 
angry denial. 

“I saw you,” said Winton, in a low, calm tone, 
“I saw you slug Stone on the jaw with your 
fist, Hayden; it’s useless to deny it.” 

“It’s very strange,” sneered Bern, “that you 
were the only one who saw it. Where were the 
referee’s eyes?” 

“Following the ball, doubtless. Carney swung 
Stone round sidewise as you lunged into the 
scrimmage, for doubtless he thought you had the 
ball, and he was trying to block you. It gave 
you a chance to hit Stone squarely on the side of 
the jaw, and you smashed him. Perhaps I was 
the only person who observed it; I hope I was. 


BETWEEN THE HALVES 195 

You've played a brilliant game, Hayden, and you 
can't afford to let your temper and your hatred 
of Stone mar your record. Only for the fine 
style in which he blocked off the opposing guard, 
you never could have made such good gains. He 
doesn't know you hit him, for he didn't see you; 

and he won't know unless " 

“I deny that I did it," muttered Bern sullenly. 
“And while you deny it you're aware that I 
know you did. Settle your personal grudges off 
the football field; that's the thing to do. Don't 
think for a moment that I'm taking sides in this 
quarrel between you and Stone ; I know nothing 
of the merits of the matter, and it's no affair of 
mine. Nevertheless, if I should see you do an- 
other wretched trick of that sort I'd stop the 
game to pull you off the field." 

“You're only the coach; the captain of the 
team would have something to say about that." 

Winton's eyes flashed. “I'm the coach, and 
as long as I continue in that capacity I'll exert 
my authority to pull any man out of the game. 
You have a nasty temper and a revengeful dis- 
position, my boy, and it will be for your advan- 


196 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

tage to learn to curb yourself. Would you like 
to see Clearport win this game?” 

“Certainly not.” 

“I thought not.” 

“Clearport can't win. We’ve got them beaten 
now.” 

“So that’s what you think. If you had seen 
as many football games as I have, and if you 
had watched this one from the side-lines, you 
would realize that there is not as much difference 
between these two teams as there seemed to be. 
If they ever discover our weak spots and get 
busy on them, they’ll make us go some yet. The 
line is none too strong, and the loss of Stone 
would weaken it frightfully. Furthermore, what 
do you imagine the fellows would think of you if 
they even suspected that you had tried to knock 
Stone out— *— and you might have succeeded if the 
half hadn’t ended just as you slugged him. I’m 
not going to say anything more; I think I’ve 
said enough. But don’t forget that I have my 
eyes on you.” 

Not a word of this conversation had reached 
Stone’s ears, yet, sitting on the blanket and look- 


BETWEEN THE HALVES 197 

in g toward Winton and Hayden, Ben somehow 
obtained a slight inkling of the truth. This sus- 
picion was strengthened as Winton finished 
speaking and turned away ; for, in spite of him- 
self, Bern could not help glancing toward Stone, 
and his eyes wavered beneath the boy’s steady, 
questioning gaze. 

Piper, having stretched himself on the ground 
near Ben, had likewise fallen to watching Hay- 
den and his accuser. 

“My deduction is ” began Sleuth. 

Two short, sharp blasts from the referee’s 
whistle told that the intermission was over and 
the time for the second half to begin had ar- 
rived. 


CHAPTER XX. 


ONE WHO WAS TRUE. 

In less than two minutes after the resumption 
of play the spectators perceived that a great 
change had taken place in the home team, for the 
Clearporters had returned to the field firmly re- 
solved to redeem themselves, and they went into 
the struggle with a snap and dash that temporari- 
ly swept the visitors off their feet. Tricked by a 
crisscross in the second scrimmage, Oakdale per- 
mitted Oakes to get round the right end, Spotty 
Davis being effectively and easily blocked by 
Stoker, while Crane let Butters through, and the 
left tackle of the locals flung himself before Hay- 
den, preventing a tackle. 

The few shrill cries which had risen from the 
northern side of the field became a chorus of 
shouts, and those shouts swelled into a roar as 
Oakes got past Eliot and raced onward, with a 
198 


ONE WHO WAS TRUE 


199 

few pursuers straggling out behind in a fruitless 
effort to overtake him. 

Winton, who had lighted a cigar, chewed sav- 
agely at the weed and smote his knee with his 
clenched fist. 

"Just what I was afraid of !” he muttered. 

Over the goal-line went Oakes for a touch- 
down, cheered wildly by the delighted crowd be- 
neath the blue banners. The ball was punted out 
and caught, and Oakes held it for Ramsdal to 
lift it with a sure and handsome kick over the 
crossbar. 

"We can’t afford to let them repeat that per- 
formance,” said Eliot regretfully. 

But the locals, retaining the ball after the 
kick-off, carried it fifteen yards in a swift dash 
before they were stopped. Having their courage 
restored and being spurred on by Merwin, they 
lined up and lunged into the scrimmage before 
the visitors were wholly prepared, and a gain of 
nine yards through center might have developed 
into another sensational run had not Eliot him- 
self nailed the man with the pigskin. 

Cheer after cheer was flung across from the 


200 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

northern side of the field. The visitors on the 
southern side answered bravely, yet not wholly 
without a note of distress and alarm. 

“Got yez going, me bhoy,” grinned Barney 
Carney into the face of Ben Stone. “Oi belave 
it’s our turrun now.” 

He was not the only one who believed this ; the 
whole team believed it. And when a body' of 
contestants in any game get the idea that they 
are bound to succeed, it is doubly difficult to stop 
them. The Clearporters had talked it over ; they 
had decided that the left wing of the visitors was 
stronger than the right. Stoker had told them 
that Spotty Davis was “soft as mush.” Never- 
theless, they were crafty enough not to betray 
immediately their plan to batter at that right 
end, and by shifting their movements rapidly, 
they kept their opponents guessing. Round Davis 
and through the line between him and Crane they 
occasionally shot a runner for good gains, which 
carried them on again and again just when it 
seemed that they had been checked. 

Eliot entreated Davis ; he begged, and then he 
scolded. Spotty, feeling the weight of the batter- 


ONE WHO WAS TRUE 


201 


in g hurled upon him, swiftly lost heart; and when 
in a sort of blind despair he finally tackled a run- 
ner head on, he was the one who remained 
stretched on the hard ground after the ball was 
down. 

“Come, Davis — come,” called Eliot, “get up 
and get into the game. For goodness’ sake, take 
a brace !” 

Spotty groaned dolefully. “I can’t,” he whim- 
pered, with a choke in his voice. “I can’t; I’m 
done up.” 

Roger turned toward Winton, who lifted his 
hand in a signal, to which the Oakdale captain 
replied with a nod. Walker, Stone’s seatmate at 
school, was promptly sent out by the coach ; and 
the little fellow came running without hesitation, 
trembling with excitement, delighted because he 
was to have a chance in the game. 

His head hanging, Davis staggered off the field 
and fell prostrate upon the ground, hiding his 
face on his curved arm. “I was getting the whole 
of it,” he mumbled chokingly. “They were bound 
to do me.” But no one paid any heed to his mut- 
tering or to the tears he shed. 


202 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


Stoker laughed at Walker, but the little chap 
soon demonstrated that he was on the field to do 
his handsomest as long as he lasted ; and, despite 
the greater weight of the opposing end, he was 
able to keep the fellow busy. For a time this 
change seemed to put a little new life into the 
Oakdalers; but even though they got the ball, 
they could not hold it long, and, checked near the 
center of the field, they found themselves conx- 
pelled to surrender the pigskin by kicking. 

Clearport came back again with the dash and 
go which had so surprisingly altered the run of 
the game. Merwin made a successful quarter- 
back run ; Boothby gained a little ground through 
center ; and then Stone, breaking through Carney, 
slammed a runner down for a loss. Right on top 
of this the locals were penalized for holding, but 

the rising courage of the visitors was dampened 

\ 

when the home team pulled off a handsome for- 
ward pass that yielded double the distance needed. 

Even though Oakdale fought every inch of the 
ground, being at last fully aroused to the danger, 
Clearport repeatedly worked the crisscross with 
good effect and brought into play still another 


ONE WHO WAS TRUE 


203 


well-executed forward pass that landed them up 
against the goal-line, where, after being held for 
two downs, they finally pushed the ball over by 
barely six inches. 

Apparently the tide had turned most decisively, 
and it was not strange that some of the easily dis- 
couraged Oakdalers felt that they were surely 
beaten. If the captain thought so, however, he 
succeeded marvelously well in hiding his feelings, 
trying his best all the time to brace his teammates 
up, encouraging the equally staunch, chiding a 
few who showed symptoms of wavering, and en- 
treating one or two who apparently had lost 
heart. 

There was a hush as Ramsdal prepared to try 
for goal. The defenders, lined up behind the 
posts, crouched, ready to charge; and as Clear- 
port’s full back booted the ball Hayden leaped 
forward and upward, his open hands stretched 
high above his head. His fingers barely grazed 
the leather, but did not check the flight of the 
ball; if anything, they lifted it a trifle and aided in 
shooting it over the bar. 

The home crowd was still making a terrific 


204 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

uproar as the two teams once more spread out 
upon the field, and there was every reason why 
that portion of the spectators should rejoice ; for 
Clearport had won the lead by a single point, and 
the course of the game in the second half seemed 
to promise beyond doubt that this lead could be 
held. 

The moment the ball came again into the pos- 
session of the locals they retained it and resumed 
their rushing tactics. Pounding their way into 
Oakdale’s territory, they marched on by short 
but sufficient gains toward yet another touch- 
down, the line of the visitors being pierced at 
almost every point save that defended by Ben 
Stone, which had been found practically invulner- 
able. Again and again it was the players in the 
backfield, Eliot, Hayden or Barker, who checked 
the assaults and prevented still larger gains. Win- 
ton’s fears that Oakdale would prove weak in 
defense had surely been well grounded. To add 
to the dismay of the visitors, they were penalized 
for fowling on their own thirty yard line, and 
the distance thus lost made the situation seem 
absolutely hopeless. Almost every spectator be- 


ONE WHO WAS TRUE 


205 

lieved Clearport destined to add further points to 
her score. 

In the darkest moment, however, with the lo- 
cals beating Oakdale back against the goal-line, 
Fred Merwin fumbled. The ball, snapped to 
him by Corbin, twisted out of his fingers and 
bounded off to one side. Even as he flung him- 
self at it he saw a figure that had cut through 
Barney Carney flash before him. The ball was 
scooped from the ground in a marvelous manner, 
and Merwin, having miscalculated, clutched at 
the heels of the fellow who had secured the pig- 
skin — clutched but could not hold fast, even 
though his fingers touched the stocky ankles of 
Ben Stone. 

How it was that Ben got that ball up from 
the ground and kept his feet no witness could 
tell. For two or three strides it seemed that he 
must plunge headlong with it, and then he re- 
gained his equilibrium and brought a gasping 
chorus of cries from the southern side of the field 
as he ran on toward Clearport’s goal. Neverthe- 
less, he had given his left ankle a wrench, and 
every step hurt like the jab of a knife. With 


206 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


his teeth set, he hugged the ball beneath one arm, 
the other thrown out stiffly to fend off a dark fig- 
ure he saw coming at him ; and he left the would- 
be tackier jarred, dazed and knocked to his knees. 

Once more every spectator was standing, and 
from opposite sides of the field came cries of dis- 
may and wildly palpitant shouts of joyous en- 
couragement. J 

It was Boothby, the swift left half back of the 
locals, who slowly but surely cut down the man 
with the ball. Had Ben found it possible to run 
barely a trifle faster, he could have carried the 
pigskin over the line. As it was, he made a 
thrillingly sensational run, and Boothby, shoot- 
ing at him from behind, brought him down less 
than fifteen yards from Clearport’s goal. 
Slammed to the ground, Stone held fast to the 
huge yellow egg, and the next he knew Eliot 
was patting him on the back and telling him how 
good he was. 

With the two teams preparing for the scrim- 
mage, the Oakdale captain moved up and down 
behind the line, touching first one and then an- 


ONE WHO WAS TRUE 


207 

other of his comrades as he urged them to get 
into the play like fiends. 

“ We've got to do it right now,” said Roger, 
“and we can.” 

Panting, Stone heard Sage calling the signal, 
and at the sound of the key number every nerve 
in his body went taut as a bow-string; for it was 
the play by which the most effective gains had 
been made in the first half — Hayden was to go 
through Clearport’s right wing with the ball. Ben 
knew he was expected to make the opening for 
the runner. If the work was well done, there 
was a chance that Bern might cover the remain- 
ing distance and secure a touchdown. 

The remembrance of what had happened at 
the very finish of the first half struck Stone like 
a blow between the eyes. He doubted not that 
it was Hayden who had slugged him, yet now 
he was expected to assist that fellow in a play 
which might give him the glory of winning the 
game. 

Winning the game — that was it! that was 
everything! Nothing else counted. The fellow 


208 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


who would let a personal grudge interfere was 
not worthy to wear an Oakdale uniform. 

Tuttle snapped the ball, and Stone went at 
Carney like a thousand of brick. Already the 
Irishman had been led to respect his opponent, 
and, even though his backbone had weakened not 
a whit, he could not withstand the charge which 
swept him from his pins and spun him aside. 

Sleuth Piper did his part by taking care of 
Morehead, and, his teeth set, Hayden came 
through that opening. It was Oakes who had 
seemed to anticipate the play, and Oakes who 
flung himself at Hayden ; but it was Stone, inter- 
fering for the runner, who was brought down 
by the right half back of the locals. He had 
leaped forward in the tackler’s path just in time 
to save Bern. 

What a shriek of joy went up from those who 
bore the crimson banners ! How those red flags 
waved! For Hayden had crossed the line, and 
the touchdown was made. 


CHAPTER XXL 


A SURPRISING MEETING. 

The game was over ; after the third touchdown 
by Oakdale it had not lasted long enough for 
Clearport to recover and accomplish anything. 
The visitors had won, and they were being con- 
gratulated by their overjoyed admirers. Hayden 
was applauded, and his hand was shaken until 
he repulsed the exuberant crowd that surged 
around him. Stone likewise came in for his share 
of applause and praise, and, although his heart 
was happy, his unfortunate manner might have 
led many to fancy him stolid and almost sullen. 
Nevertheless, when, with a hand on Ben’s shoul- 
der, Winton told him that he was the man who 
had saved the day and won the game, he smiled 
a little, and there was a blurring mist in his eyes. 

Roger Eliot, his face lighted by that rare smile 
of his, praised them all. 

209 


2io BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“I see my father is here with his touring car,” 
he said. “I wish the car were large enough to 
take you all back to Oakdale, boys; but it isn't, 
and so by the way of company I'll take one of 
you. Come on, Stone, old chap.” 

Ben flushed, surprised because he had been 
singled out. 

“He's the feller,” cried Chipper Cooper gener- 
ously — “he's the feller to take, Roger. Give him 
a good ride; he deserves it.” 

Hayden said nothing; he had not expected to 
be invited, yet he was angered because Roger had 
selected Stone. 

The boys had left their regular clothes in a 
room at the hotel, and to this they repaired to 
shed the dirty, sweat-stained garments of the 
game. Stone took no part in their light-hearted 
chatter ; when they congratulated him, he simply 
said he had tried to do his best. Finally, bearing 
his bundle of football togs, he descended with 
Roger and found Mr. Eliot's car waiting at the 
door. Little Amy was in the car with her father, 
who sat beside the driver. The child laughed and 


A SURPRISING MEETING 21 1 

clapped her hands as her brother and Ben ap- 
peared. 

‘I’m going to ride on the back seat between 
you,” she called. 

Mr. Eliot beamed on the boys. “You pulled 
out of that game pretty well, Roger,” he said. “I 
saw only the last of it, for I couldn’t get here 
sooner. I thought you were done for, son, but 
Ben saved you with that great run. That was 
really what won the game, as it gave you a 
chance to make the touchdown you needed.” 

Roger’s father had called Ben by his Christian 
name, and Stone felt his heart swell. Seated in 
the tonneau of the automobile with Amy beside 
him, he was borne out of Clearport and away over 
the brown, winding road that led to Oakdale. 
Often he had longed to ride in an automobile 
and wondered if he would ever have the privi- 
lege. The sensation of gliding softly along as 
he lay back against the tufted leather cushions 
brought him a feeling of great satisfaction and 
peace. The sun, peeping redly over the western 
rim of the world, smiled upon him, and nowhere 


212 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


in all the sky was there a cloud, even as large as 
a man's hand. 

Amy talked gaily; she told how excited she 
had been as she watched Ben running with the 
ball, and, although she did not understand the 
game, she knew he had done a splendid thing. 

“It would have been a frightful calamity for 
us if you had been knocked out at the finish of the 
first half, Ben," said Roger. “I was afraid of 
it, and we never could have won that game with- 
out you." 

Stone recalled his suspicions, and a shadow fell 
athwart his face, but his lips remained silent. If 
Hayden had really perpetrated that foul trick, he 
had failed in his purpose, and Ben, triumphant, 
had no desire to speak of it. 

A soft, tingling, cold twilight came on with the 
setting of the sun. At their bases the distant 
hills were veiled in a filmy haze of blue. The 
engine beneath the hood of the car purred softly 
as it bore them over the road with the power of 
fifty horses. As, with a mellow warning note 
of the horn, they swept around a gentle curve, 
they came upon a small, dusty human figure 


A SURPRISING MEETING 213 

trudging slowly in the direction they were travel- 
ing. It was a boy, ahead of whom trotted a little 
yellow dog, held by a line attached to its collar. 
Over the back of the little lad a violin was swung 
by supporting strings. 

The dog turned aside, pulling at the line, and 
the boy followed him, as if led and guided in 
this manner. 

Ben Stone uttered a sudden shout. “Stop,” he 
cried wildly — “stop quickly ! Please stop !” 

“Stop, Sullivan,” commanded Mr. Eliot; and 
the chauffeur responded by bringing the car to 
a standstill as soon as possible. Even before the 
wheels ceased to revolve Stone had vaulted over 
the side door of the tonneau and was running 
back toward the boy they had passed. “Jerry!” 
he called. “Jerry ! Jerry !” 

The little yellow dog barked at him, but, paying 
no heed to the animal, Ben swooped down on the 
lad who held the line and scooped him up in his 
arms. 

“Who is it, Roger?” asked Urian Eliot in sur- 
prise. 


214 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“Jerry,” said Roger — “he called him Jerry. 
Why, father, it must be Ben’s own brother.” 

“His brother ? Why, I didn’t know ” 

“He told me about his brother,” explained 
Roger. “They were separated after Ben’s par- 
ents died. Jerry is blind.” 

“Oh !” murmured Amy. “Isn’t that just dread- 
ful! Blind and walking all alone with only a 
dog for company! We must take him in the car, 
papa.” 

“Certainly,” said Mr. Eliot, opening the door 
and stepping out. “This is a most remarkable 
occurrence.” 

In the meantime, Ben and Jerry — for it was 
indeed Ben’s unfortunate younger brother — were 
transported by the joy and surprise of the un- 
expected meeting. They clung to each other, 
laughing, crying and talking brokenly and inco- 
herently. The little dog, who had at first seemed 
to fear some harm threatened its master, frisked 
back and forth before them, barking frantically, 
finally sitting up on its haunches with its forward 
paws drooping, its mouth open and its protruding 
tongue quivering; for at last it appeared to com- 


A SURPRISING MEETING 215 

prehend that there was really no danger, and this 
affair was one over which even a small yellow 
dog should laugh and be happy. 

Roger had left the automobile likewise, and he 
came back to them, waiting near at hand until 
they should recover from the distracting excite- 
ment of the moment. 

“Oh, Jerry !” choked Ben. “To find you here — 
I don’t understand it, Jerry.” 

“I’ll tell you all about it, Ben, as soon as I can. 
I’ve been searching for you everywhere, but I 
was afraid I’d never, never find you.” 

“Stone,” said Roger, “take him into the car.” 

Jerry shrank against his older brother. “Who 
— who is it, Ben?” he whispered. 

“A friend — the best friend — besides you, Jerry 
— that I’ve ever known. We’ve been playing 
football, and we’re going back to Oakdale now — 
going back in a big, fine automobile. This is 
Roger Eliot, Jerry.” 

Roger stepped forward and took one of the 
little lad’s soiled hands. “I’m very glad to meet 
Ben’s brother,” he declared with such sincerity 
that Jerry’s alarm was instantly dispelled and 


216 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


his sympathy won. “My father’s auto is waiting, 
and there’s room to spare.” 

“You never rode in an automobile, Jerry,” said 
Ben. “It’s corking.” 

Through the dusk Roger saw the smaller lad’s 
sightless eyes turned upon him. 

“But — but my little dog, Pilot?” said Jerry 
questioningly. “I must take him. I know he’s 
tired, the same as I am, and I wouldn’t leave him 
for ” 

“Certainly we’ll take him,” assured Roger. 
“Come on.” 

To the sightless wayfarer it was a marvel be- 
yond words, almost beyond comprehension. He 
heard them speak of Roger’s father and felt the 
reassuring touch of Urian Eliot’s strong but gen- 
tle hands, while the voice of the man sounded 
in his ears. He was lifted into the tonneau of 
the car, the dog whining nervously at the end of 
the line until bidden follow, upon which, with a 
single sharp yap of thankfulness, he sprang up. 
He heard also the voice of a child, who spoke 
softly and seemed glad to welcome him. It was 


A SURPRISING MEETING 217 

not strange that his head swam with the wonder- 
ment of it. 

While waiting, the chauffeur had lighted the 
gas lamps of the car, and, with the machine again 
under way, they blazed a golden path through the 
deepening autumn darkness. The sharp, cold air 
whipped Jerry’s cheeks, but the strong arm of 
the brother he loved was about him, and his heart 
beat with happiness so intense that it was like a 
keen, sweet pain. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


A SYMPATHETIC SOUT. 

Both Roger and his father urged Ben and 
Jerry to come home with them for dinner, but the 
older brother declined, saying that they had many 
things to talk over between them. Already Ben 
had found that Jerry was disinclined to answer 
his eager questions in the presence of the stran- 
gers, and he was consumed with curiosity to 
know what singular chance had brought the blind 
boy thither. 

When the automobile stopped in front of the 
house, Jimmy Jones, his eyes big with wonder- 
ment, peered forth through the darkness and saw 
the two boys alight and the little dog hop out 
after them. Then good nights were called, the 
big car swung slowly round and rolled away, and 
Jimmy came hopping forth, palpitant to know 
about the game. 


218 


A SYMPATHETIC SOUL 


219 

“Did you play, Ben — did you play?” he asked. 
“Who won?” 

“We did, and I played, Jimmy.” 

“Oh, good! I wish I could ’a’ been there to 
see it. Mother she’s kept some hot bread for you 
and some coffee. She said you’d be hungry.” 

“That’s right,” confirmed Mrs. Jones, her am- 
ple figure appearing in the doorway. “You’re 
young and strong, and I don’t b’lieve hot bread 
will do no damage to your dejesshun. Joel, my 
late departed, he was a master hand for hot bread 
and presarves. We had baked beans for supper, 
an’ I’ve left the pot in the oven, so they’re piping 
hot. Joel, he used to eat about four heapin’ plates 
of beans, an’ then he’d complain because every 
little morsel he put into his stummick disagreed 
with him. Who’s that with ye?” 

“This is my brother, Mrs. Jones — my brother 
Jerry. We haven’t seen each other for a long 
time, and he’s been walking far to-day, so he’s 
very tired. Step up, Jerry.” 

Ben grasped the little chap’s arm and guided 
him as the steps were mounted. In an aside he 


220 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


whispered for the ear of Mrs. Jones, “He’s 
blind.” 

“Land sakes !” breathed me good woman, put- 
ting up both hands. “Come right in and set down 
to the table. Mamie, she’s gone out somewhere, 
an’ Sadie’s having one of her chills. Don’t stum- 
ble on the doorstool. Right this way.” 

Gently but firmly she swept them into the room, 
where the table still sat with the white cloth and 
some dishes upon it. Jerry clung to the line, and 
now the little dog followed at his heels. 

“This is a surprise,” said the widow, as she 
hastened to place another plate and another chair. 
“Y’u never told me about your brother, Ben; 
fact is, y’u never told me much about y’urself, 
nohow. I s’pose y’u’ll want to wash up. There’s 
the sink an’ soap an’ water an’ a clean towel. Did 
y’u come all the way from Clearport in Mr. 
Eliot’s automobile ? My goodness ! that must ’a’ 
been grand. I don’t cal’late I’ll ever have no op- 
portunity to ride in one of them things, an’ I 
guess I’d be scat to death if I did, ’cause they go 
so fast. Don’t it ’most take a body’s breath 
away?” 


A SYMPATHETIC SOUL 


221 


“Not quite as bad as that,” answered Ben, smil- 
. ** 
mg; “but it's splendid, and I enjoyed it.” 

“So did I,” said Jerry. “It 'most felt like I 
was kind of flying through the air. I hope I ain't 
making nobody a lot of trouble, coming so unex- 
pected this way.” 

“Trouble !” beamed Mrs. Jones. “My gracious ! 
I should say not! Why, Ben he's gittin' to be 
'most like one of my fambly, though sometimes 
it's hard work makin' him come down to eat with 
us when I ax him. I ain't like some folks, thank 
goodness, that's put out and upsot over every lit- 
tle thing that happens; an' if I'd been so, livin' 
so many years with an ailing husband, they'd had 
me dead an' buried long before him. I never can 
endure folks that’s always complaining about the 
hard time they have to get along, when there's 
so much to enjoy in this world an' so much to be 
thankful for. Every time I git sorter billious 
and downcast an' dejec'ed I look 'round till I find 
somebody that's wuss off than I be, an' then I 
take holt an' try to give them a lift, an' that 
cheers me up an' makes me feel thankful an' con- 
tent with my lot.” 


222 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


As she talked she brought forth the beans and 
poured them, steaming, upon a huge platter. Hot 
bread, fresh butter and a dish of preserves were 
likewise placed on that table, after which the cof- 
fee was poured. 

“Now,” said the widow, “I want to see y’u two 
youngsters make a hole in the vittles.” 

“I think we can,” laughed Ben. “I know Fm 
mighty hungry, and I expect Jerry is, too.” 

Jerry was hungry, indeed; really, the little fel- 
low was almost starved, and it was with no small 
difficulty that he repressed the eager desire to 
gulp his food. Watching him, the widow under- 
stood, and covertly, even while she talked in the 
same cheerful, optimistic strain, she wiped her 
eyes more than once with the corner of her apron. 
There was something about these two boys that 
appealed to her big, motherly heart, and the 
thought that the thin, weary-looking little chap 
was doomed never to enjoy the precious privilege 
of sight gave her a feeling of regret and sorrow 
that she found difficult to disguise. 

“You see,” said Ben suddenly, thinking it 
courteous and necessary to make some explana- 


A SYMPATHETIC SOUL 


223 

tion — “you. understand, Mrs. Jones, that if Pd 
known Jerry was coming Pd told you about it. 
He gave me a regular surprise. I hope you won't 
mind if he stops with me to-night, for there's 

plenty of room, and " 

“Land sakes! what be y'u talkin' about, Ben?" 
interrupted the widow protestingly. “Mind — 
'course I don't mind! 1'm glad he's come. 1'm 
glad y'u have got some comp'ny to cheer y'u up, 
for sometimes y'u do sort of seem to need it, an' 
I know I can't just fill the bill; for old folks never 
do jibe in proper an' sympathetic with young 
folks. Then 1'm so busy I don't have the time to 
look arter y'u the way Pd like to." 

“You've been very good indeed to me, Mrs. 
Jones — almost like a mother," returned Ben. “I 
don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you." 

“Now don't talk that way. Goodness gracious ! 
ain't y’u fussed 'round amusin’ Jimmy, a-fixin' 
squirrel traps an' swings an' things for him? 
That's more'n squared any little thing I could do 
for y'u to make y'u comf'table." 

“Look!" cried Jimmy. “The little dog is hun- 


224 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

gry. See him begging. He’s hungry, mom. 
Can’t I feed him?” 

Pilot was sitting on his haunches, his forward 
paws drooping as he turned his head to look from 
one to another beseechingly. 

“ ’Course y’u can feed him,” said the widow 
quickly. “I sorter forgot about him. Lemme 
look, an’ I’ll see if I’ve got a bone in the pantry.” 

She found some bones and scraps, which she 
brought forth on a plate, and Jimmy, begging the 
privilege, was permitted to feed Pilot, who ex- 
pressed his appreciation by a sharp bark and such 
frantic wagging of his tail that his whole body 
was shaken from side to side all the way to his 
forward shoulders. 

When supper was over, to satisfy Jimmy, Ben 
was compelled to tell about the football game, 
and this he did with such modesty that the list- 
eners, who had not witnessed the contest, were 
given no inkling as to how conspicuously he had 
figured in it. He was even fair and generous 
enough to accord Hayden all the credit the fellow 
deserved. 

At the first mention of Bern’s name the blind 


A SYMPATHETIC SOUL 


225 

lad uttered a cry of astonishment and alarm, 
reaching out a trembling hand to touch his 
brother. 

“Ben! Ben!” he exclaimed. “IPs not Bern 
Hayden who — who used to live in Hilton — not 
that fellow?” 

“Yes, Jerry, it’s the same fellow. He lives 
here in Oakdale now.” 

“But, Ben, he — why, you know what he did. 
You know ” 

“Pm not likely to forget it, Jerry.” 

“He hates you.” 

“There's not an atom of love lost between us,” 
was the grim retort. 

“He made you go away from Hilton.” 

“And he tried to drive me out of Oakdale, but 
he failed in that, Jerry. He came mighty near it, 
it's true, and only for the good friends I made 
here he would have succeeded. His old father 
even went to Prof. Richardson, at the academy, 
and tried to poison his mind.” 

“Oh, I’m afraid of them, Ben ! I know Bern 
Hayden would do anything to hurt you — any- 
thing.” 


226 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“You needn’t be afraid. Roger Eliot is my 
friend; his father is, too, and Mr. Eliot has fully 
as much strength and influence in Oakdale as 
Lemuel Hayden.” 

“That’s right,” confirmed Mrs. Jones, “and 
he’s lived here lots longer. Everybody knows 
Urian Eliot ’round these parts; an’, even if he is 
a rich man and rather tight and close in business 
dealin’s, they do say he’s honest an’ just. ’Course 
he’s got his enemies, same’s anybody has; but 
even the wust on ’em can’t point out no crooked 
thing he’s ever done.” 

Nevertheless, it was no easy matter to calm 
and reassure the agitated blind boy. Presently, 
after they had talked for a time, Mrs. Jones 
lighted a small hand-lamp and gave it to Ben, 
saying : 

“I won’t keep y’u up no longer, for I kno.w y’u 
must be tired an’ want to go to bed — anyhow, 
I’m dead sartain your brother is plumb pegged 
out. But to-morrer is the day of rest, an’ y’u can 
sleep jest as late as y’u want to.” 

Good nights were said, and the brothers mount- 
ed the narrow back stairs, Ben assisting Jerry 


A SYMPATHETIC SOUL, 227 

while the little dog scrambled up behind them. 
When at last they were in the privacy of Ben's 
room, he questioned Jerry. 

“I didn’t want to ask too many things before 
people,” he said, “because I thought perhaps 
there might be something you wouldn’t care to 
answer; but I don’t understand how it was that 
I found you, tired and worn out, tramping to 
Oakdale. How did Uncle Asher happen to let 
you leave his home?” 

“Uncle Asher is dead,” said Jerry. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE BUND FUGITIVE. 

Ben was startled. “Dead,” he cried, aghast — 
“Uncle Asher dead?” 

“Yes,” answered Jerry, sitting on the edge of 
the bed, “he was took off sudden, Ben. He didn't 
live much more'n an hour after he was struck 
down. It was apoplexy or something like that. 
The doctor, he couldn't do anything. Uncle, he 
never spoke but once, and that was just before he 
went. Of course I was awful scat, Ben, but I 
was in the room, and I heard him whispering my 
name. I went to the bed and felt for his hands. 
One of them didn't have any strength, and it was 
stone cold. The other was cold, too, but I felt it 
grip my wrist, and then, sort of husky and choky, 
Uncle Asher said, ‘The will, it's in' — and that 
was all. He never finished ; he couldn't. I don't 
believe it was ten minutes after that when they 
told me he was gone.” 


228 


THE BLIND FUGITIVE 


229 


Ben seemed to be stupefied by the intelligence 
of this tragedy. "Uncle Asher dead !” he repeat- 
ed, apparently finding it difficult to comprehend 
the situation. "He was good to you, wasn’t he, 
Jerry?” 

"Always. He wouldn’t talk about you, Ben; 
all he’d say was that nobody knowed what had 
become of you. But he was good to me, and he 
said I’d always be taken care of.” 

"I’m sorry,” said Ben simply, brushing away 
the tears which welled into his eyes. "As long 
as he was good to you, I don’t mind what he 
thought about me, for I suppose he had reasons 
to believe I was bad.” 

"I wanted to tell you all about it when we met 
back there on the road,” said Jerry; "but I 
thought perhaps it wasn’t best to talk too much 
before other people. I was afraid to talk, Ben, 
and I’ve got good reasons to be afraid. Listen, 
Ben; I ran away.” 

"You — you what?” gasped the older lad in 
great astonishment. 

"I ran away, Ben. I didn’t even wait till the 
funeral was over.” 


2 3 o BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“What made you do that?” 

“Because — because they were going to send me 
off to some institution for poor and helpless chil- 
dren. I heard them talking about it, the doctor 
and the lawyer and one or two of the neighbors. 
They didn’t know I heard them, but I couldn’t 
help listening. The lawyer had come, and he said 
he’d drawn up Uncle Asher’s will four years ago. 
It was in a safety deposit vault at the bank. I 
heard him telling that there wasn’t no provision 
made for me in that will. Something was left to 
the housekeeper and one or two distant relatives, 
and all the rest went to benevolent institutions ; I 
was left out. 

“Of course I .thought of you, Ben, the very 
first thing, and I wanted to let you know; but 
there wasn’t nobody who could tell me where you 
were. It was pretty hard to think mebbe I’d be 
shut up in some institution and kept there and 
never, never find you again. When I thought 
about that all alone in my room I got desperate, 
Ben. All that was left to me was my little dog, 
Pilot, that uncle had bought for me and trained 
to lead me round; and I was afraid they’d take 


THE BUND FUGITIVE 


231 


Pilot away from me, too. So that night I packed 
up a few things, and took the violin Uncle Asher 
had given me, and took Pilot, and we stole out 
of the house and ran away. 

“I told Pilot just what I was going to do, and, 
honest and true, I believe he understood what I 
said. I told him Uncle Asher was gone, and that 
if we didn't run away mebbe folks would separ- 
ate us and we couldn't be together no more. He'd 
never been outside that town before, Ben, but 
when we took to the road in the night he just 
kept going straight ahead without once trying to 
turn back. Needn't nobody ever tell me some 
dogs don't understand as much as human folks. 

“I'd took along some bread and doughnuts out 
of the pantry, and, when it come morning and I 
could feel the sun shining, we had breakfast side 
of a little brook, after which we crept into the 
bushes and hid all day long. I heard people go- 
ing by on the road, but I told Pilot to keep still, 
and he minded. There was enough food left for 
supper, and the next night we tramped it again 
all night long, stopping only two or three times 
to rest. In the morning I had breakfast off some 


232 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

apples I found in an orchard. Pilot he left me, 
and I thought mebbe he’d deserted for good, and 
I guess I cried, Ben; but he hadn’t gone far, and 
after a while he come back with an old bone he’d 
found, and that served him for breakfast. We 
got into a shed and slept there till it was dark 
and we could travel some more.” 

“Oh, Jerry,” cried Ben sympathetically — “oh, 
Jerry, it must have been terrible!” He seated 
himself beside the blind lad, about whose shoul- 
ders his arm was tenderly flung. The little dog, 
half dozing on the floor, rolled a contented, satis- 
fied eye toward them and closed it again. 

“I can’t tell you all we did and all we went 
through, Ben,” the blind lad continued ; “but we 
managed to get along somehow, though I was 
always scat for fear they’d catch me and take me 
back. I played on the violin and sometimes I 
sang, and Jerry he would sit up on his haunches 
and beg, and people gave us some money. That’s 
how we were able to live and buy food.” 

“It was a marvel you were not caught, Jerry. 
Perhaps no one searched for you.” 

“Oh, yes, they did,” declared the blind boy 


THE BLIND FUGITIVE 


233 

quickly — “yes, they did, Ben. It was three 
nights ago I was stopping at a house in a little 
village where some kind folks agreed to put me 
up when I heard somebody knocking at the door. 
It gave me a start, and I listened. I heard a man 
talking to the man of the house, and he was ask- 
ing about me. He described me — a little blind 
boy with a fiddle and a dog. I hadn't undressed 
for bed, and that was lucky. I called Pilot softly, 
and somehow we got down the back stairs and 
out of the house before they came up to that room 
to look for me. Again we tramped it all night 
long, though it was awful cold and I shivered 
and almost froze every time we stopped to rest. 
Everywhere I went I asked for you, and I kept 
praying to find you, Ben, though it didn't seem 
that there was any chance. I guess, though, that 
prayer was heard." 

“It was, Jerry; it must have been. Something 
led you to me, and something guarded you from 
capture until you had found me." 

“But what if they find me now, Ben — what can 
we do?" 

The older lad meditated a moment. “I can 


234 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

take care of you, Jerry/' he said. “I'm strong, 
and I can work. I'll have to give up school for 
a time and find work again." 

“But you know, Ben — you know they think 
you're bad. They might separate us on that ac- 
count. I'm sure they would." 

“And only for Bern Hayden," exclaimed Ben 
bitterly, “I’d never have such a reputation! We'll 
do the best we can, Jerry; don't you worry. For- 
tune has seemed to favor me here in Oakdale, 
and I feel sure everything is bound to come out 
all right in the end. We won't be separated, little 
brother ; we'll stick together." 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


CLOUDS GATHER AGAIN. 

Again Ben Stone found himself confronted by 
a problem that demanded immediate solution. It 
disturbed his pillow long after Jerry, wearied to 
the extreme, was sleeping soundly; and when at 
last he slept it gave him troubled dreams. 

He was first to waken in the morning, and, 
when he would have slept still longer, the great 
question swooped upon him and tore away the 
last shred of slumber. The little dog welcomed 
him with wagging tail as he crept softly out of 
bed that he might not disturb his sleeping brother. 
He was nearly dressed when Jerry awoke with 
a startled cry, sitting up on the bed and thrust- 
ing out his thin arms, his hands spread open as 
if to hold away some fearsome thing. In a 
twinkling Ben was at the bed, speaking reassur- 
ingly to Jerry. 


235 


236 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“Oh — oh, is it you, brother ?” gasped the blind 
boy, as he felt himself gathered into the embrace 
of Ben’s strong arms. “I thought they had 
caught me. I thought they were going to take 
me back. ,, 

“You were only dreaming, Jerry. You’re quite 
safe with me.” Tenderly he caressed the little 
lad, who, trembling, clung to him. 

“You won’t let them take me away, will you, 
Ben?” 

“No, Jerry, they shall not take you away.” 

Mrs. Jones would have had them down to 
breakfast, but when she came to call them they 
had eaten from Ben’s small store of apples and 
sandwiches, and they seemed quite happy and 
contented, so that she had no glimpse of the 
threatening shadow which hovered near. 

During the greater part of that Sunday the 
brothers remained in the little room, having many 
things to talk about and being unwilling to ad- 
vertise for the general public the fact that Jerry 
was in Oakdale. Late in the afternoon, however, 
they walked out together, turning westward to 
avoid the main part of the village and passing 


CLOUDS GATHER AGAIN 237 

the academy. Before reaching Turkey Hill they 
left the road and set off across the fields toward 
a grove of pines upon the shore of Lake Wood- 
rim. Pilot, unleashed, frisked before them. On 
the shore of Bear Cove they found a seat be- 
neath one of those pines where the ground was 
carpeted with soft brown needles. 

They were sitting there, talking, when a small, 
flat-bottomed punt containing a single occupant 
rounded Pine Point in full view and was paddled 
toward them. The person in the boat was Spotty 
Davis, who, despite the fact that it was Sunday, 
had been fishing. He discovered them almost im- 
mediately, and, recognizing Ben, called loudly: 

“Hello, Stoney, old fel; what ju doin'? 
Thought mebbe I could ketch a pick’rel or two 
here in the cove." 

Although Ben had not found Spotty’s friend- 
ship wholly unwelcome, he was now far from 
pleased by the chap’s appearance. It was too late 
to get away, however, and so he waited until 
Davis, paddling straight in, grounded the punt 
upon a bit of gravelly beach and sprang out. 


238 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

Pilot regarded the stranger doubtfully, growling 
a little. 

“Say, who’s your friend, Stoney?” inquired 
Spotty, advancing unhesitatingly. “Gee! what 
an ugly lookin’ dog!” he added, with a derisive 
grin. “Don’t let him chaw me up, will ye?” 

“Down, Pilot! Be still!” commanded Jerry. 
And, although he obeyed, the dog continued to 
regard Davis with suspicious eyes. 

“This is my brother Jerry,” explained Ben. 
“He arrived in Oakdale last night. Jerry, this is 
one of my friends, Tim Davis.” 

“Your brother, hey?” said Spotty, taking the 
thin hand Jerry held forth. “Say, what’s the 
matter with his blinkers ? They look awful 
funny.” 

“He’s blind,” explained Ben in a low tone. 

“Sho! Can’t see nothin’? Jerusalem! that’s 
tough. Can’t he really see nothin’ at all ?” 

“As far as sight is concerned, he can’t distin- 
guish daylight from darkness.” 

“Whew!” breathed Spotty, sitting down and 
staring at Jerry. “I never see nobody like that 
before. You never told me about him, Ben; 


CLOUDS GATHER AGAIN 239 

you’ve never said much of anything about your 
folks.” 

“I thought possibly you had heard some stories 
from Bern Hayden.” 

“Well, not much; he just sorter knocked you, 
and I s’posed that was ’cause he was sore on 
you. Say, I guess you proved that you could play 
football yesterday. Bern didn’t have much on 
you in that game. Wasn’t it tough I got knocked 
out? Them fellers kind of picked me out and 
soaked me. They’ve always had a grudge against 
me, them Clearporters. Last time I played base- 
ball against them Harry Hutt spiked me, and that 
put me out of the game, too. Eliot he was mad, 
’cause he said I wasn’t hurt so bad I couldn’t 
play; and I s’pose he was mad yesterday, too. 
He’s awful stiff-necked sometimes; but you cer- 
tainly got on his soft side through what you done 
for his sister, and I guess he’d back you up in 
anything. He brought Hayden to terms all right 
when Bern tried to force you off the team by get- 
tin’ the fellers to quit. I wish you’d heard a few 
things Bern had to say yesterday ’cause Roger 
invited you to ride home in the automobile.” 


2 4 o BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

‘Tm decidedly glad I didn't hear them/' re- 
turned Ben. “All I ask is that Bern Hayden 
keeps away from me and lets me alone." 

“He didn't like it much when some of the fel- 
lers said we couldn't ever won that game only 
for you. That was a hard pill for him to swaller. 
He's always used me all right, in a way, though 
I know he thinks he's better'n I am 'cause his 
father's got the dough. I don't think it's right, 
either, for some folks to have so much money 
and other folks to have so little. Now there's 
lots of things I'd like if I only had the chink to 
buy 'em. Look a' the rotten old fishin' tackle 
I've got in that bo't; if I had money I'd buy an 
elegant jointed rod, a triple action reel, a silk line, 
and any amount of hooks and flies and baits. 
How long is your brother goin' to stay?" Spotty 
concluded suddenly with that question. 

“I — I don't know about that," faltered Ben. 
“We haven't quite decided. Isn't it pretty late in 
the season for fish to bite ?" he asked, seeking to 
turn the drift of conversation. 

“Guess 'tis," admitted Davis. “I ain't had a 


CLOUDS GATHER AGAIN 241 

bite. We can generally ketch pick’rel pretty late, 
though.’’ 

Ben rose and assisted Jerry to his feet. “I 
think we’ll go back,” he said. 

“What’s your hurry?” asked Davis. “It’s 
kinder comf’table here. The wind don’t cut into 
this cove, and the sun’s warm.” 

But they left him, and, after they had passed 
through the grove and were recrossing the open 
field beyond, Jerry said: “Somehow, I don’t like 
your friend, Ben. There’s something about his 
voice and the way he talks that I don’t like.” 

“Oh, I reckon he’s a harmless fellow, and he 
was one of the first in Oakdale to be really friend- 
ly toward me; I can’t forget that.” 

When they reached the house they learned 
that Roger Eliot had been there asking for them. 

“He seemed real disapp’inted,” said the widow. 
“P’raps y’u’d better walk ’round to his house an’ 
see him.” 

But it was late and growing dark, and Ben 
decided not to call on Roger that night. 

Stone appeared at school the following day 
wearing a gravely troubled face, which led Eliot 


242 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

to question him, and he was on the point of tell- 
ing Roger everything and asking his advice when 
several other boys came up and the opportunity 
was lost. All day long Ben's mind dwelt on the 
perplexing problem, and gradually he came to 
believe there was only one solution ; he must give 
up school’, leave Oakdale, and find a job of some 
sort by which he could support himself and Jerry. 
It meant the shattering of all his plans, but he 
faced the alternative bravely, and even became a 
bit more relieved and cheerful when he had de- 
cided to accept it as the only thing that could be 
done. 

When the boys came out for practice that 
afternoon neither Stone nor Hayden was with 
them. Spotty Davis was on hand, however, and, 
after a consultation with the coach, Roger called 
Spotty aside for the purpose of telling him as 
kindly as possible that he would be no longer 
needed upon the team. 

Davis instantly showed his resentment and 
anger. Hayden, coming up, heard him shrilly 
saying : 

“That's all right, Mr. Eliot, you can fire me. 


CLOUDS GATHER AGAIN 243 

I’ve seen other fellers knocked out in football 
games, and they wasn’t fired. Mebbe you’ll need 
me yet, and mebbe you won’t get me if you do.” 

-as- 

With which he walked away and sat down alone 
on one of the lower rows of seats, his sly face 
wearing a sour expression of resentment and 
anger. 

Practice was begun without Stone. In the 
midst of it he appeared, wearing his plain, home- 
spun clothes, and called to the captain. 

“Roger,” he said, “I can’t play football any 
more.” 

Eliot uttered an exclamation of surprise. 
“Why not, Ben? What’s the matter now?” 

“I told you my story some time ago; you’re 
the only one who has ever heard it from me. 
Uncle Asher, who took my blind brother to care 
for, is dead, and now someone must look after 
Jerry. I haven’t money enough to attend school 
and take care of him too, so I’m going to leave 
school. I must find work; I’ve settled on that.” 

“Oh, say, that’s too bad, Stone, old chap! 
Now don’t be hasty; let’s think this matter over. 
Perhaps my father will do something for Jerry.” 


244 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

Ben shook his head. “I couldn't permit my 
brother to accept charity, Roger ; I thank you very 
much for the generous thought, but I've made 
up my mind. I've left the suit you loaned me, 
and everything else, in the gym. Perhaps I'll 
see you again to-morrow before we leave Oak- 
dale. I couldn't practice to-night if I wanted to, 
for Jerry is all alone. I went to see him after 
school was over and tell him my decision; that's 
why I wasn't here promptly. Don’t say anything 
to the rest of the fellows now. I’d like to bid 
them all good-by, but I don't want to do so here 
at this time." 

Roger found it useless to advance argument, 
and finally Ben departed, watched by the eyes of 
Hayden, who had sauntered past in time to catch 
a few words of the conversation. 

Five minutes later Hayden excused himself and 
left the field in the wake of Spotty Davis, who 
was finally going away in a sullen and resentful 
frame of mind. 

Stone went down into the village to purchase 
a pair of shoes for Jerry, whose footwear was 
almost wholly gone to the uppers. In his timidi- 


CLOUDS GATHER AGAIN 245 

ty the blind boy had remained all day long in 
that room at Mrs. Jones’, again beset by fear 
that the pursuers he dreaded might find him ; and 
he was even unwilling to be seen in the village 
with his brother. 

Ben spent some time selecting the shoes, for 
he wished to get a stout and serviceable pair at 
a moderate price, which was no easy matter. 
Having made the purchase at last, he was on the 
point of leaving when the shopkeeper said: 

“There was a man here in town a while ago 
asking for a boy by your name, only the front 
part of his name was Jerry instead of Ben, and 
the man said he was blind.” 

For a moment Ben’s heart ceased to beat. 
“How long ago was that?” he asked huskily. 

“Oh, less than an hour, I guess. He’d just 
struck town, and he’s gone over to the hotel for 
supper.” 

Ben ran all the way back to Mrs. Jones’ house. 
At the door he met Spotty Davis, who had just 
come down the back stairs. 

Davis seemed a trifle startled. “Hello, Ben!” 
he exclaimed. “I just dropped round to see ye. 


246 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

Found your brother all alone. Saw you wasn’t 
practicin’ to-night, and sorter wondered what the 
matter was. You know, Eliot he’s fired me. 
What do you think of that? I didn’t believe he’d 
do it.” 

“I can’t stop to talk with you, Spotty,” said 
Ben; ‘Tm in a great hurry. Excuse me, will 
you?” 

“Sure,” said Davis, with great willingness, as 
he passed on. 

At the gate Davis paused an instant to glance 
back ; but Ben had disappeared, and Spotty scud- 
ded away into the gathering twilight. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


HIGHT, 

Ben mounted the stairs in haste. “Here, 
Jerry,” he said, “let me try these shoes on you. 
Let’s see if they fit.” His hands trembled a bit 
as he removed the remnants of the shoes the blind 
boy had worn and tried the others upon Jerry’s 
feet. “How do they feel?” he asked, as he hast- 
ened to lace them. 

“All right,” was the answer. “But what’s the 
matter, Ben? You’re panting and excited. Has 
anything happened?” 

“I’ve been hurrying,” said Ben evasively. 

But even the little yellow dog seemed to realize 
that something was wrong, for he moved about 
uneasily, eying the brothers and whining. 

“I’ve decided we had better leave Oakdale at 
once — right away,” said Ben, as he rose to his 
feet. “Sit still, Jerry, while I gather up the things 
I must take.” 


247 


248 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“Ben,” said the younger lad, with conviction, 
“something has happened. You’re nervous and 
alarmed; I know it by your voice. Why don’t 
you tell me, Ben — why don’t you tell me?” 

At any rate, it would be necessary to tell him 
in a few moments, and so, seeking to frighten the 
blind boy as little as possible, Ben did so at once. 
The moment Jerry learned a man had appeared 
in Oakdale asking for him he became panic- 
stricken ; his face grew pallid and he trembled in 
every limb. 

“They will take me away from you, brother — 
they will separate us!” he exclaimed. 

“They shall not!” cried the older lad fiercely. 
“I had decided already to leave Oakdale to-mor- 
row; we’ll leave to-night — we’ll slip away at 
once. Keep still, Jerry, and I’ll make all the 
preparations.” 

“But what if that man should come — what if 
he should come before we can start?” 

“He’ll have to get here in a hurry to find us.” 

Indeed, it did not take Ben Stone long to make 
a bundle of the few belongings he felt he must 
take. A great deal of his poor personal property 


FLIGHT 


249 


he had resolved to abandon for the time being, 
confident that Mrs. Jones would take care of 
everything for him. Sometime when there was 
no longer danger he could recover it all. 

“We’ll get out of the house without saying a 
word to anybody,” said Ben. “That’s the best 
way, although I hate to do it, for we seem to be 
running away like criminals.” 

At the last moment, smitten by regret because 
fancied necessity seemed to compel him to leave 
without bidding the kind widow good-by, he 
seized a piece of brown paper and the stub of a 
pencil and sat down to write a few words of fare- 
well — Jerry urging him to hasten even while he 
was scribbling. This was what he wrote: 

“My Dear Mrs. Jones : — 

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all 
your kindness to me and to my little blind broth- 
er. I’m forced to do what I am doing, though I 
regret it very much. I wish I might say good- 
by to you and to Jimmy, but I do not dare. I 
know I shall always be ashamed and sorry for 
this last thing I have done, but I couldn’t help it. 
I hope you’ll forgive me and always think as well 
of me as you can, no matter what you may hear 
about me.” 


250 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

At this point Jerry's impatient pleading could 
be no longer resisted, and, hastily signing his 
name, Ben left the note of farewell where it could 
not be overlooked by Mrs. Jones. With all pos- 
sible stealth they descended the stairs and got 
softly out of the house. 

The night had come on overcast and dark, 
heavy clouds veiling the moon. A raw wind, chill 
and dank, came from the east, soughing fitfully 
through the bare limbs of the trees and sending 
fallen leaves scurrying along the ground. Just 
outside the gate Ben turned to look back at the 
lighted windows. Mamie, accompanying herself 
on the melodeon, was singing, and there was a 
choking sensation in Ben's throat as he listened. 

“An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain; 
O ! give me my lowly thatch cottage again ; 

A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, 
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with 
elsewhere. 

Home, home, sweet, sweet home! 

Be it ever so humble, there's no 
place like home." 


FLIGHT 


251 

“Come,” entreated Jerry; and they fled on past 
the silent academy, the gym and the athletic field 
— on into the bleak night. The blind boy had 
brought his violin, and it was swung by the cord 
over his back. 

With the village behind them, Ben paused once 
more to look around. The lights of Oakdale 
twinkled far down the road. It was there he had 
dreamed pleasant dreams; it was there he had 
fought his fight until victory seemed within his 
grasp; but those dreams were over, and he had 
been conquered by cruel fate in the hour of his 
triumph. Fear, which frequently perverts the 
soundest judgment, had forced him, without rea- 
soning or sober thought, into this flight by night. 

They went on, and soon a barren shoulder of 
Turkey Hill shut out those lights and they were 
alone on the highway that led to the northwest. 

“We’ll be followed, Ben,” said Jerry apprehen- 
sively. “What can we do?” 

“If you, blind and alone, save for Pilot, could 
avoid pursuers so long, surely together we must 
find it a simpler matter. Trust me. This is not 


252 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

the first time I have been forced into running 
away.” 

“I know — I know; but they didn’t try to catch 
you, Ben. They let you go and thought it good 
riddance. Now it’s different.” 

“I don’t understand why they should put them- 
selves to so much trouble and expense to find 
you, Jerry, and shut you up in an institution. 
Perhaps they’ll give it up after a while.” 

Hand in hand they went on through the black 
night. At times Pilot, having trotted a short dis- 
tance ahead, would pause to peer at them through 
the blackness, and whine. The wind moaned 
across the open spaces and crashed the limbs of 
trees together while they were passing through 
strips of woods. The dampness in the atmo- 
sphere added to the penetration of the chill, and 
Jerry’s teeth chattered. 

They came to Barville, ten miles from Oakdale, 
and were in the outskirts of the dark and silent 
village before they were aware of it. They were 
tempted to try to circle round the place, fearing 
someone might see them, but only two or three 
dim lights gleamed faintly from windows, and 


FLIGHT 


253 


not a soul did they encounter on the streets of 
the town. Once a dog barked in a house they 
were passing, but Jerry was swift enough in 
bidding Pilot be still to prevent the little animal 
from answering. 

Beyond Barville they paused to rest, and Ben, 
hearing Jerry’s teeth chatter, persisted in pulling 
off his coat and buttoning it about the blind lad’s 
shoulders. In this manner the violin on Jerry’s 
back was protected when, later, a fine, drizzling 
rain began. 

“But you’ll be wet through, Ben, and you’ll 
catch cold,” said Jerry. “I wish you’d take your 
coat.” 

“I’m all right,” laughed the elder brother. “I’m 
tough, and there’s never anything the matter 
with me. Perhaps we can find shelter some- 
where.” 

The rain, driven in the teeth of the wind, soon 
drenched him through ; and when at last he per- 
ceived near the road an old barn with no house 
at hand, even Ben was more than willing to stop. 

“I think the house must have burned down,” 
he said, “for there isn’t any to be seen. It’s a 


254 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

good place, Jerry. We must be eighteen or 
twenty miles from Oakdale. We can stop here 
and keep out of sight all through the day, if 
necessary. ,, 

So they tried the door of the barn and found 
it unfastened. In the black darkness they felt 
their way cautiously, at last climbing upon a hay- 
mow, where Jerry sank down exhausted. 

“Perhaps they'll give it up when they find 
we're gone, Ben," said the blind boy, shivering. 
“Maybe they won't try to follow us." 

“Maybe not. We'll hope so, anyway. Bern 
Hayden will be glad when he finds out. He'll 
rejoice over it." 

They burrowed into the hay and talked for a 
time of various plans, while gradually, in spite 
of their drenched condition, the heat of their 
bodies as they snuggled close together warmed 
them through. Pilot crept up against Jerry and 
contented himself. The wind swept against the 
old barn and moaned through cracks, while the 
rain beat unceasingly upon the roof. 

Ben thought of Bern Hayden's fine home, and 
he had a wrestle with the bitter resentment 


FLIGHT 


255 

against fate which sought to claim him. At first 
it seemed that everything in the world was wrong 
and that those who least deserved it, or did not 
deserve it at all, were most favored by fortune; 
but then he remembered Roger, to whose home he 
had been welcomed, and he knew that some who 
were worthy were privileged to bask in pros- 
perity’s sunshine. 

Finally the mournful sweep of the wind and 
the fitful beating of rain lulled his senses, and he 
slept — slept to dream of Hayden leering trium- 
phantly upon him. In his sleep he muttered : 

‘Wait — wait; my time will come!” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE ARREST. 

A lance of sunshine, piercing a crack in the old 
barn, struck squarely into Ben Stone’s eyes and 
awoke him. For a few moments he lay still with- 
out comprehending, the odor of the haymow in 
his nostrils ; his head alone was uncovered by the 
hay into which the fugitives had burrowed. High 
up in the peak of the barn the morning light 
streamed in through a broken, dusty, cobwebby 
window ; with the passing of the night the storm 
had passed also, and the new day was bright and 
fair. 

Ben turned his head slowly, softly, and saw his 
brother sleeping beside him, which sight brought 
back with a rush the memories of recent events 
leading up to and including the flight by night 
from Oakdale. They were fugitives, he and 
Jerry — fugitives and wanderers upon the face of 
the earth. 


256 


THE ARREST 


257 

Jerry awoke; the sightless eyes unclosed and a 
faint smile crept over his face. “Ben,” he called, 
moving a hand to touch the lad at his side — 
“Ben, is it you?” 

“Yes, Jerry. Did I wake you up? I didn't 
mean to do so.” 

“Oh, I'm glad you did; I'm glad to know we're 
together again. It is morning.” 

“Yes, it is morning; the sun is shining.” 

“I'm warm and dry and comfortable now. I 
was so wet and cold when we found this place 
last night !” 

“It was a mean old night. If it hadn't stormed, 
we’d got a much bigger start — we’d be lots fur- 
ther away from Oakdale now.” 

“We’d better stay here all day long, Ben, for 
anyone won't be likely to find us. That's the way 
I did at first — hid in the daytime and traveled 
at night.” 

“But we brought no food, and we must have 
something to eat. I’m afraid you’re hungry 
now, Jerry.” 

“Oh, not a bit,” was the assurance. “It ain't 
so hard for a feller to go all day without eating if 


258 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

he only tries; I know, for haven’t I done it lots 
of times ! Perhaps when night comes again we’ll 
be able to find something to eat somehow.” 

“I have money,” said Ben. “I can buy food.” 

“But if you try it now somebody who sees you 
may send word back to Oakdale. Please don’t 
try it now, Ben, for truly Pm not hungry. 
Where’s Pilot?” 

For the first time they thought of the little 
dog, and, to their surprise and dismay, he was 
gone. Ben, however, was far more concerned 
than Jerry over this. 

“He’ll come back,” declared the blind boy. 
“He’s gone to hunt for his breakfast, and I know 
he’ll come back ; he always does.” 

They lay there for some time, talking of the 
past and planning for the future. The ray of sun- 
shine that had aroused Ben crept on across the 
mow, leaving them in shadow, and presently 
Jerry once more betrayed tokens of drowsiness, 
slumber again claiming him at last. 

“Poor little chap !” murmured Ben with infin- 
ite tenderness. “You’ve had a hard time of it, 


THE ARREST 


259 

but I’m going to stick by you now and take care 
of you always. I can do it, and I will.” 

The silence in the barn was so profound that he 
could hear crickets fiddling in the thickets of 
brown, rain- washed grass outside. With a clat- 
ter of hoofs and a rumble of wheels, a horse and 
carriage passed on the road near by. Ben list- 
ened till the sounds died out in the distance, and 
then after a time he likewise slept once more. 

It was the barking of Pilot that next aroused 
the brothers, and the little dog came scrambling 
up onto the low mow and sniffed around them, 
whining strangely. He barked again, a short, 
sharp note, whereupon Jerry clutched his brother 
with both hands, whispering excitedly: 

“Danger, Ben — danger! Pilot is trying to tell 
us.” 

Even as these words were uttered they heard 
the voices of men and the tramp of heavy feet. 
One of Jerry's hands found Pilot's collar, and be- 
neath that touch the dog crouched upon the hay 
and was still. 

There seemed to be two men. “The critter sar- 
tainly come right in here,” said one of them. 


26 o BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“Mebbe ’tain’t the same dorg, but he answers the 
deescription the Widder Jones give; and it's 
mighty queer a dorg should be hookin’ it round 
here, where there ain’t no houses nigher than a 
quarter of a mile.” 

“Where’s the beast dodged to, sheriff?” ques- 
tioned the other man. “I heared him bark arter 
he skipped in through the open door.” 

Sheriff! Ben Stone’s heart leaped into his 
throat at that word, and a shuddering sickness 
overcame him. He felt Jerry trembling violently 
at his side. Both lay perfectly still, scarcely 
breathing, but unable to repress the heavy beat- 
ings of their hearts. The men searched below, 
and after a time one of them climbed upon the 
mow. In a few moments he nearly trod upon 
them, halting to utter a shout : 

“Here they be!” 

As the other man came scrambling to the mow, 
Ben threw aside the hay and sat up. 

“What do you want?” he asked huskily. 

One man, tall and thin, with a bunch of tobac- 
co-stained whiskers on his chin, answered imme- 
diately : 


THE ARREST 


261 

“We want you, and, by hokey, we’ve got ye!” 

“Oh, Ben!” sobbed Jerry, likewise sitting up. 
“Oh, Ben!” 

In a moment Pilot bristled and barked savage- 
ly at the men, who, however, betrayed no shade 
of alarm over this demonstration. 

“If I hadn’t spied that yaller cur,” said the 
shorter man of the two, “we might never located 
them to-day. Nobody we questioned ’round here 
had seen anything of ’em. You’ve got to give me 
the credit, sheriff.” 

“That’s all right, Hubbard; you’ll git all the 
credit that’s cornin’ to ye, don’t worry.” 

Ben had seen both men in Oakdale. The taller 
was William Pickle, a deputy sheriff; the other 
Abel Hubbard, a constable. The deputy stooped 
and fastened a strong hand on Ben’s shoulder. 

“Come on,” he ordered. “You took a long 
walk last night; we’ll give ye a ride to-day.” 

“What are you going to do with me ?” 

“Goin’ to take ye back to Oakdale, of course.” 

“What for ? What have I done?” 

“I ruther guess you know. You’re a slippery 
rascal, and you’ve left a record behind ye every- 


262 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


where you’ve been. Gimme the irons, Hub- 
bard.” 

There was a clanking, rattling sound as the 
constable brought forth a pair of handcuffs, at 
sight of which all the resentment in Ben Stone's 
outraged soul rose. 

“Don't you put those things on me !" he shouted 
furiously. “I haven’t done anything." 

Both men held him, and, in spite of his strug- 
gles, the manacles were snapped upon his wrists ; 
while Jerry, still sitting on the mow, pleaded and 
sobbed and wrung his hands, the little dog vainly 
seeking to soothe him by trying to lick his face. 

“He's a desp'rate character, sheriff," said the 
constable. “ 'Twouldn't be safe not to iron him." 

“I ain't takin' no chances," declared William 
Pickle grimly. “I had one prisoner break away 
once, and that learnt me a lesson. Now it's no 
use to raise sech a fuss, young feller ; you might 
jest as well take your medicine quiet. You ought 
to know what alwus comes to them that plays the 
tricks you've been up to." 

“I haven't done anything to be arrested," pro- 
tested Ben wildly. “I have a right to take care 


THE ARREST 263 

of my own brother, for he's blind and can't look 
out for himself." 

“Purty good bluffer," grinned Abel Hubbard. 

“That's all right; 'twon't do him no good," re- 
turned the deputy sheriff. “Course he's got sense 
enough to know anything he owns up to may be 
used as evidence against him." 

Again and again Ben protested that he knew 
not why he had been placed under arrest. “Why 
don't you tell me?" he cried. “What's the 
charge?" 

“Robbery," said Pickle; “and there's sartainly 
evidence enough to put ye behind the bars. You 
might jest as well come along quiet, for it won't 
do ye no good resistin'. We'd better be movin', 
Hubbard." 

They dragged him down from the mow, Jerry 
following, dumb with anguish. At a distance 
from the barn a horse, attached to a carriage, 
was hitched beneath a roadside tree, and toward 
this conveyance the manacled prisoner was 
marched between the two officers. His brain was 
in a whirl, for he could not understand the mean- 
ing of this hideous accusation against him. 


264 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“Unhitch the hoss, Hubbard,” directed the dep- 
uty sheriff. ‘Til put this feller inter the wagon.” 

“Take me with my brother!” pleaded Jerry, 
who had followed to the spot. 

“We ain’t got no orders to take only jest him,” 
said William Pickle. “The wagon ain’t roomy 
enough to carry you, too, and so we can’t bother 
with ye. Mebbe ’twas an oversight we wa’n’t 
give’ orders to fetch ye, for you might serve as a 
witness against him ; but, having neither authori- 
ty nor room, we won’t cumber ourselves with 
ye.” 

With the captive between himself and Hub- 
bard, William Pickle took the reins and turned 
the horse toward Oakdale. Looking back, the 
manacled lad saw Jerry standing there, his face 
hidden in his hands, the yellow dog gazing up 
sympathetically at him, a spectacle never to be 
forgotten; and the frightful injustice of fate 
seemed to crush and smother the last spark of 
hope and strength in Ben’s soul. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


THE DARKEST HOUR. 

The Oakdale lockup was beneath the Town 
Hall, and into that cage for culprits Stone was 
thrust. Curious and unfriendly eyes had seen 
him brought back into the village. As the post 
office was passed, one of a group of men loung- 
ing on the steps called out: “I see you got the 
critter, Bill.” 

“Yep,” answered the deputy sheriff, with a 
grin of triumph ; “we ketched the rascal all right, 
Eben.” 

The afternoon session had begun at the acad- 
emy, and therefore Ben's plight was not wit- 
nessed by any of the scholars, for which he was 
doubly thankful. When they were inside the lock- 
up Pickle removed the handcuffs from the boy's 
wrists. 

“There,” he said, “I don't guess you'll break 
265 


266 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


out of here. There's a chair and a bunk, and you 
better make yo'rself as comf’table as ye can. Hub- 
bard will have charge of ye now till you're 
brought to trial." The door closed heavily be- 
hind the departing officer, the bolt grating 
harshly in the lock. 

On the journey back to Oakdale Ben had tried 
in vain to learn the particulars of the crime with 
which he was charged. While avoiding or refus- 
ing to answer his questions, the two men had 
craftily sought to lead him into compromising 
statements; failing in which, they disappointedly 
told each other that his attempt at “slickness" 
would do him no good. 

The boy sat on the heavy, broken-backed chair, 
resting his elbows on his knees and bowing his 
face in his hands. There he sat motionless for 
a long time, trying to divine by what baleful 
freak of circumstances he had been brought to 
this wretched plight; but, without knowledge of 
the facts to work upon, he found himself flound- 
ering helplessly and blindly in a mire of uncer- 
tainty. 

He was aroused by voices outside the door, 


THE DARKEST HOUR 267 

above which an iron-barred window admitted 
light and air. 

“I say it’s just inhuman to treat the poor boy 
in sech a fashion! You ain't fed him, y’u say; 
y’u ain’t even found out if he’s hongry an’ starv- 
in’. I’ve brung him some vittles, an’ the least 
y’u can do is feed him. I don’t b’lieve he ever 
stole nothin’, an’ I’ll never b’lieve it till it’s 
proved ag’in’ him. He’s a good boy, an’ a kind- 
hearted boy. He was good to my little Jimmy, 
an’ I’ll never forgit it as long’s the Lord lets me 
live.” 

Ben thrilled, for it was the voice of Mrs. 
Jones; and here was one, at least, who still had 
faith in him. 

“That’s all right, Mis’ Jones,” said Abel Hub- 
bard. “Your sympathetic heart sartainly does 
you credit, but in this case it’s a dead sure thing 
you’re a-wastin’ your sympathy on an undeserv- 
in’ objec’. Why, there ain’t no doubt in the world 
but he’s the thief, for wasn’t the watches and the 
rings and some of the money found hid under the 
straw tick of his bed right in your own house? 


268 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


That’s proof enough, Mis’ Jones, and there ain’t 
no gittin’ round it.” 

“I don’t b’lieve he put them things there, Abel 
Hubbard — no, siree ! I dunno how they come to 
be there, but that boy never stole ’em.” 

“He’s been up to things wuss’n that, and his 
father before him was a jailbird. Blood will tell, 
Mis’ Jones — blood will tell. I s’pose he orter 
have somethin’ to eat, but we’ve been so busy we 
ain’t got ’round to feed him yet. I’ll give him 
the grub you’ve brung. Yes, I’ll give it to him 
now, Mis’ Jones; but you better stand back from 
the door], ’cause he’s a desperate critter, and 
there’s no tellin’ what he may try. He’ll never 
play no snigdums on me, though; he’ll find me 
ready if he tries ’em.” 

When the heavy bolt was shot back and the 
door opened cautiously by the constable, Ben was 
seen standing at a distance, showing no disposi- 
tion to attempt anything desperate. The widow 
was there, bearing in her hands a large dish 
covered by a napkin, snowy white, though some- 
what frayed. Her broad, kindly face was soft- 
ened with sympathy and sorrow. 


THE DARKEST HOUR 269 

“Oh, my poor boy !” she said. “I’ve brung y’u 
something to eat to keep y’u from starvin’, for 
these heathen ’round here don’t seem to have no 
thought about that. I’ve brung the best I had 
in the house, which, goodness knows, is poor 
enough — cold beans left over from Sunday, an’ 
bread an’ butter an’ doughnuts an’ a piece of 
blueb’ry pie. I’ll fetch y’u a warm supper by 
and by, for I bought a piece of lamb to stew 
a-purpose, an’ Sadie is tendin’ it. You must be 
awful hongry, an’ I know cold beans won’t hurt 
your deejeshun, though they alwus sot monstrous 
hard on Joel’s stummick. You jest keep up your 
pucker, Ben, an’ don’t lose courage; for you’ve 
got some friends left, an’ they’re goin’ to do 
everything they can for y’u. I wisht the consta- 
ble would let me in to see y’u, but he says no, an’ 
so I can’t come.” 

Ben had advanced slowly toward the door, 
closely watched by the suspicious eye of Abel 
Hubbard. He had fought back his emotions until 
once more he seemed to be the stolid, indifferent 
fellow who had won so little sympathy when he 
first appeared in Oakdale. Nevertheless, there 


270 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

was a catch in his voice as he took the dish and 
sought to express his gratitude. The door closed 
upon him, and he was again alone. 

He had eaten some of the beans and one of the 
doughnuts when Hubbard reopened the door on 
a crack and thrust in a pitcher of water, which 
he left standing upon the floor. 

The time passed with leaden feet. He had 
ceased trying to understand; he waited dumbly. 
Far away a bell clanged, sending a slight shudder 
through him ; it was the academy bell, telling that 
mid-afternoon intermission was over. Doubtless 
his schoolmates knew all about it by this time; 
they had heard of his arrest and imprisonment in 
the lockup, and they had told one another what 
they thought of it. Hayden was rejoicing and 
his friends were satisfied, while probably still 
others had said they knew all along it would 
come to something like this. It was the darkest 
hour of Ben Stone’s life. 

He did not think wholly of himself, however; 
indeed, his thoughts dwelt far more upon his 
helpless blind brother, whom he had promised to 
stand by and to protect, but from whom he had 


THE DARKEST HOUR 


271 


been ruthlessly and unfeelingly separated. His 
soul was heavy and faint with the weight laid 
upon it, when again there were voices at the door 
and again the lock grated harshly. 

Roger Eliot entered, followed by a smooth- 
faced, middle-aged man; and the constable, step- 
ping inside, relocked the door and stood grimly 
on guard. 

Ben had risen. His eyes met those of Roger 
squarely, and in a moment the latter rushed for- 
ward with his hand outstretched. 

“Stone, old fellow,” said Eliot, “this is tough 
luck.” 

Their hands met, and there was strength and 
reassurance in the grip Roger gave. 

“I didn’t hear what had happened to you until 
intermission time, Stone,” said the football cap- 
tain apologetically; “if I had, you’d seen me be- 
fore this. My father sent me word. He has 
engaged Lawyer Marsh to defend you. This is 
Mr. Marsh, Ben.” 

The lawyer likewise took the hand of the ac- 
cused boy, looking earnestly into his face. “Mr. 
Eliot,” he said, “seems to think there must be 


272 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

some mistake. He is unwilling to believe you are 
guilty, my lad.” 

Ben’s face, which had been quite pale, flushed 
deeply; for, of a sudden, his heart sent the blood 
leaping through his body. So Urian Eliot did not 
believe him a thief ! Roger had faith in him and 
was ready to stand by him ! After a moment he 
spoke with strange calmness : 

“I am not guilty.” 

“I knew it!” cried Roger. “I would have 
staked my life on it.” 

“As your counsel,” said the lawyer, “I have 
come to talk the matter over with you, that I may 
prepare to defend you when the trial is called at 
ten o’clock to-morrow. I shall ask you some 
questions, and you must answer them frankly, 
fully and truthfully.” 

“You shall have a truthful answer to every 
question you ask, sir.” 

“I suppose you know the circumstances which 
have led to your arrest?” 

“I only know that I am charged with robbery. 
I have been told nothing more.” 

“Then you may not be aware that two lockers 


THE DARKEST HOUR 


273 

at the gymnasium were broken open, that of 
Roger and of Bernard Hayden.” 

"I know nothing about it, sir.” 

“They were broken open and pilfered while 
football practice was in progress last night. 
Roger’s watch and some money belonging to him 
were taken; Hayden likewise lost a watch, two 
rings and some money. These watches, the rings 
and a part of the money were found after you 
had disappeared, concealed beneath the straw tick 
of the bed in your room. That is the evidence 
against you, and to most people it must seem 
decidedly convincing.” 

“I never touched any of those stolen articles, 
sir. I did not hide them in my room. If I had 
stolen them why did I leave them there when I 
ran away?” 

“That’s it!” cried Roger. “The very question 
I asked.” 

“But why did you run away?” interrogated the 
lawyer, watching Ben intently. 

Stone answered that question without hesita- 
tion. In doing so, he went back to the cause of 
Jerry’s flight from the home of his dead uncle, 


274 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

explaining how the blind lad had been pursued 
even to Oakdale, and how while purchasing that 
pair of shoes Ben had learned that a man had 
arrived in the town and made inquiries for the 
fugitive. 

"They told me the man was at the hotel getting 
supper/’ concluded Ben. "I knew he would have 
no trouble in finding Jerry after that, and so we 
lost not a minute in getting away.” 

"This clears up that point, which I could not 
understand,” smiled Roger in great satisfaction. 
"I knew there must be some other explanation 
than that Ben had fled to escape arrest. The man 
arrived at Mrs. Jones’ house while Deputy Sher- 
iff Pickle was searching Ben’s room. He was 
intensely disappointed when he found he had de- 
layed just long enough to baffle himself.” 

"Where is he now — where is he ?” asked Stone 
eagerly. 

"He left this morning, after doing a lot of 
telephoning. I think he fancied he had a clew to 
the course you had taken. I doubt if he has yet 
learned of your arrest.” 

"He will catch Jerry!” said Ben dejectedly. 


THE DARKEST HOUR 


275 

“Which doubtless will be the best thing that 
could happen,” was the lawyer's opinion. “We 
must bring the man and your brother back to 
Oakdale. W eTl need then\ both at the trial to 
establish the motive for your flight. It's really 
unfortunate that the officers who arrested you 
didn't bring Jerry along also.” 

“But we'll find them both — we’ll find Jerry and 
the man,” declared Roger. “The telephone will 
do it, and my father's car will bring them to 
Oakdale in a hurry.” 

“My boy,” urged the lawyer, “tell me your 
exact movements on leaving the academy yester- 
day afternoon.” 

“I went directly to my room, where I knew 
Jerry was waiting all alone. I hurried away 
from the academy without saying a word to any- 
one. We had a talk, Jerry and I, and I told him 
I had made up my mind at last to leave school 
and take him away to some place where I could 
find work ; for what money I had was not enough 
to support us both yvhile I finished the term at the 
academy. When we had talked it all over, I took 
some things Roger had loaned me and left them 


276 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

in the gymnasium, after which I crossed over to 
the field that I might let Roger know. From the 
field I came straight back into town and pur- 
chased a pair of shoes for Jerry at Mr. Doyle’s 
store. It was there I heard of the arrival in town 
of a man who had made inquiries about a blind 
boy and a little yellow dog. I knew what that 
meant, and I ran back to Mrs. Jones’, where as 
soon as possible I made up a bundle of things 
most needed, fearing every moment that the man 
would appear. We slipped out of the house and 
got away on the road to Barville. That’s all I 
can tell you, sir, and every word is true.” 

He had spoken in a convincing manner, and 
the lawyer nodded his head slowly. “A straight- 
forward statement, my lad; but how that stolen 
property came to be concealed in your bed is a 
staggering question.” 

“Someone must have placed those things there 
— some enemy of mine. I have a bitter enemy.” 

“He means Bern Hayden,” said Eliot; “but 
Hayden could not have done it — that’s out of the 
question. Nevertheless, Bern is determined to 


THE DARKEST HOUR 277 

push this matter. I have refused to press it, for 
which Hayden has been pleased to sneer at me.” 

“Oh, he thinks he’s got me now !” cried Stone. 
“He’s glad, and he’ll make me suffer, if he can.” 

“We’ll do our best to get this business straight- 
ened out and cleared up,” promised the lawyer; 
“and, in order that we may make all possible 
haste, I’ll have to telephone right away and try 
to locate the man who gave his name as Henry 
Bailey — the man who was trying to catch your 
brother. Keep up your courage, my boy, and 
we’ll talk this matter over again when there’s 
more time to go into the minutest details. You 
have a loyal friend in Roger, and one in his fa- 
ther, who will stand behind you and fight it out 
to a finish. If you’re innocent — and since hear- 
ing your statement I myself believe you are — 
we’ll leave no stone unturned to establish that 
fact.” 

“That’s right, old fellow,” assured Roger, his 
face lighted by that rare smile as he placed his 
hands on Stone’s shoulders. “A man is never 
down and out till he loses heart and gives up. 
I’ve seen you play football, and you’re a good 


278 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

fighter at that; be a good fighter at this, and 
you’ll win.” 

Their hands met again, and once more Eliot’s 
firm, friendly grip imparted some of his own op- 
timism and strength. They left Ben feeling 
greatly heartened and encouraged. 

“Roger is right,” he said after a time; “the 
fellow who knows he’s right and quits isn’t 
worthy to come out on top.” 

As night was coming on Mrs. Jones brought a 
huge steaming bowl of lamb stew, and with it 
more words of cheer. Ben ate the stew, every bit 
of it. The window above his prison door he left 
open to admit air when he finally lay down upon 
the hard bunk. Occasional sounds from the vil- 
lage drifted in upon him. Once he heard some 
of the boys calling to one another. He had ut- 
tered a prayer for Jerry, and the sleep that came 
to him at last was full and peaceful, unbroken by 
dreams. 

Nevertheless, he awoke suddenly, fancying 
that he was dreaming; for to his ears floated the 
sound of a violin, on which someone was playing 
the tune that had so moved him as he was begin- 


THE DARKEST HOUR 279 

ning his flight from Oakdale, “Home, Sweet 
Home.” For a few moments he lay listening like 
one in a trance. Then he leaped up, stumbled 
against his chair, seized it, felt his way in the 
darkness to the door, placed the chair and mount- 
ed it, till, grasping the iron bars above, he could 
peer out through the grating. 

A thin, pale moon was in the sky, and by 
its light he saw beneath his door the little lad who 
was drawing that plaintive melody from the old 
fiddle. At the feet of the player sat a small 
dog. 

“Oh, Jerry,” cried Ben — “Jerry, Jerry!” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


ON TRIAIv. 

The trial of Ben Stone had begun. It was 
held in the Town Hall, which proved none too 
large to hold comfortably the surprising number 
of curious persons who flocked thither; for in 
any small country town that is somewhat re- 
moved from larger places those inhabitants who 
can spare the time to do so seldom fail to attend 
such an affair, which provides for their more or 
less uneventful lives a certain sort of entertain- 
ment and a topic out of the ordinary for discus- 
sion. On this occasion they had almost complete- 
ly filled the seats in the hall, staring at the judge, 
the lawyers, the witnesses and the prisoner, and 
filling the room with a suppressed hum of com- 
ment until called to order. 

The clerk had done his part, the case had been 
stated, and Lawyer Frances, representing the 
280 


ON TRIAL 


281 


prosecution, had made his opening, telling plain- 
ly and concisely what he would attempt to prove. 
A part of the stolen property — all that had been 
recovered — together with some other articles in 
evidence, could be seen on a table at the judge’s 
elbow. The prisoner sat at one side, with his 
counsel, Lawyer Marsh, near him. His face was 
calm ; but it was not an attractive face, and more 
than one, gazing at it, had whispered to a neigh- 
bor that he looked like a thief. It is remarkable 
how quickly most persons may fancy they can 
perceive criminal indications in the features of 
any one charged with crime and placed under 
arrest. 

Not far from Ben — as near as they would per- 
mit him — sat his blind brother, Jerry; and beside 
Jerry was seen Henry Bailey, the man from 
whom the afflicted boy had hidden repeatedly in 
his flight, after his uncle’s death. Bailey was a 
harmless, kindly-appearing person, who showed 
the greatest interest in every move of the trial, 
and who more than once was seen to speak a 
few low words in a seemingly reassuring man- 


28 2 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


ner into the ear of Jerry Stone. Pilot, the faith- 
ful, lay on the floor at Jerry’s side. 

Of course Bern Hayden was on hand, and his 
father also. Bern was with the witnesses, but 
Mr. Hayden sat back, watching and listening in 
cold and distant satisfaction. The other witnesses 
were William Pickle, Roger Eliot, Sleuth Piper, 
and Spotty Davis, the last mentioned displaying 
a great deal of uneasiness, which at times 
amounted almost to fear. 

The first person called upon was the deputy 
sheriff, who, questioned by Lawyer Frances, 
stated that upon the previous night he was at 
Stickney’s store shortly after supper, where Bern 
Hayden found him and told him that there had 
been a robbery, adding the request that he should 
at once find Ben Stone, whom Hayden suspected, 
and search him. In company with Bern, Pickle 
had gone to the house of Mrs. Jones and ob- 
tained admission to the room of the suspected 
lad, only to discover that the room was empty, 
and, from indications, that Ben and his brother 
had made hasty flight. 


ON TRIAL 283 

“Go on, officer," urged Lawyer Frances. 
“What did you do then?" 

“At young Hayden’s request I searched the 
place," said Pickle. “Under the straw tick of 
the bed I found two watches, two rings, and 
some money, amounting to purty nigh ten dol- 
lars." 

“Are these the watches and the rings?" ques- 
tioned the lawyer, handing the articles to the 
witness for inspection. 

“Yep," nodded Pickle positively, “them’s they. 
I looked them over, and I’m reddy to swear 
they’re the ones." 

“And the money here- " 

“I wouldn’t swear to that ; but they was a five 
dollar bill, a two dollar bill, and quite a lot of 
coin." 

“Did you find anything else?" 

“Yep; a letter — that is, a sort of a letter, writ 
in lead pencil and apparently scratched off in a 
mighty hurry." 

“Is this it?" The sheet on which Ben had 
written his hasty farewell to Mrs. Jones was 


284 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

taken from the table and handed to the deputy 
sheriff for inspection. 

“Sartin, that's it," declared the officer. “I read 
the most of it, though part was scrawled so that 
I couldn't make it out." 

“Your Honor," said the prosecuting attorney, 
“the chirography is that of a person writing in 
great haste, and therefore somewhat difficult to 
read. I am sure, however, that I can read it; 
and with your permission I will do so." 

The judge gave consent, and Mr. Frances read 
the note slowly and distinctly, placing particular 
emphasis on certain phrases. Listening, Ben 
Stone was astounded and almost appalled as he 
realized that to most persons that brief note must 
sound like a confession of guilt. 

Pickle went on to tell how, urged by Bern 
Hayden and his father, he had set out at once to 
trace the fugitives, and had finally succeeded, 
through the discovery of the blind boy's little 
dog, in apprehending Ben some miles beyond 
Barville. 

“Course," concluded the Officer, “we give the 
feller warnin' that anything he said might be 


ON TRIAL 285 

used as evidence ag’in’ him, and I ruther guess 
he kept it in mind; for, ’though we talked with 
him considerable on the way back to Oakdale, he 
didn’t make no slip-ups, and he pertended all the 
time not to know nothin’ at all ’bout the robbery. 
I says to Constable Hubbard, says I, 'He’s a 
slick critter, an ’ ” 

"Never mind that,” interrupted Judge True- 
worthy. "Your opinions of the prisoner’s con- 
duct are not desired.” 

" ’Scuse me, Your Honor,” said William 
Pickle. 

That was all; with a gesture Lawyer Marsh 
signified that he did not wish to cross-question 
the officer, and Pickle sat down. 

Bern Hayden was called next, and as he rose 
Ben Stone’s hand involuntarily went up to his 
mutilated ear, while his pale face became, if pos- 
sible, a shade more pallid. He kept his eyes un- 
flinchingly on Bern, who, after a single look in 
his direction, turned his gaze aside. 

Bern told his story without hesitation. Chanc- 
ing to overhear Stone bidding Eliot good-by at 
the football field, an impulse had led him to leave 


286 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

the field and follow the fellow. Having seen 
Ben proceed directly into the village, however, he 
had returned to the field and practiced with the 
team until it became too dark for further work. 
With the others he had gone into the gymnasi- 
um, where two lockers, his and Eliot's, had been 
discovered broken open and rifled. He had lost 
his watch, two rings, and some money, nearly 
eight dollars, which he had left in his own 
locker. He then identified one of the watches 
and both of the rings as belonging to him, fur- 
ther stating that the money left by him in his 
locker was a five dollar bill, a two dollar bill, and 
change which must have amounted to nearly a 
dollar and a half. Knowing Ben Stone as he did, 
he had suspected him at once, and therefore he 
went in search of the deputy sheriff, whom he had 
some difficulty in finding. He had been on hand 
when Pickle searched Stone's room, and had seen 
the officer uncover the stolen property and take 
possession of Ben's note of farewell to Mrs. 
Jones. 

Bern having finished, Lawyer Marsh cross- 
questioned him. 


ON TRIAL 


287 

“Hayden,” said the lawyer, “you were ac- 
quainted with Benjamin Stone ere you came here 
to Oakdale, were you not ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You knew him, I believe, in Hilton, his native 
town ?” 

“I did, sir.” 

“And, if I am not misinformed, you had some 
trouble with him there, did you not?” 

“Yes.” 

“Was not this trouble of a somewhat serious 
nature — a personal encounter between you and 
Stone, which led you to entertain the most in- 
tense feelings of animosity toward him ?” 

“I object, Your Honor,” cried Lawyer Frances. 
“I can’t see what this has to do with the present 
case.” 

“Your Honor,” beamed Marsh placidly, “I pro- 
pose to establish that this feeling of animosity 
which young Hayden entertained toward Stone 
has a great deal to do with the case. I propose 
to show a motive on Hayden’s part which might 
lead him into an effort to injure my client.” 


288 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 


“Go on,” said the judge. “Objection over- 
ruled.” 

The lawyer repeated the question, and, after a 
bit of hesitation, Hayden answered : 

“We had a fight in Hilton, but even before that 
I had no use for Stone. He was a cheap, ruffian- 
ly fellow, and nobody thought anything of him in 

that town. His father ” 

“Never mind that,” interrupted Marsh sharply. 
“Answer my questions, that's all. You admit a 
feeling of dislike for Stone?” 

“Nobody ever liked him — before he came here; 
and he wouldn't have had any friends here if, by 

accident, he hadn't ” 

“We'll cut that out also. Is it not true that on 
finding Stone in this town you exerted your ut- 
most efforts to turn your schoolmates against 
him and to force him out of school ? Did you not 
induce your father to go to Principal Richardson 
of the academy for the purpose of urging him to 
turn Benjamin Stone out?” 

Unable to restrain himself longer, Lemuel 
Hayden sprang up, crying : 


ON TRIAL 289 

“Look here, I want to know if it’s my son who 
is on trial.” 

“Not yet, sir — not yet,” answered Lawyer 
Marsh serenely. 

The judge rapped sharply for order and re- 
quested Mr. Hayden not to interrupt the proceed- 
ings. 

Having led Bern into acknowledging he had 
done his best to force Ben out of Oakdale Acad- 
emy, Lawyer Marsh seemed satisfied. Lawyer 
Frances, however, was far from it; and imme- 
diately, by various questions, he tried to show 
that Bern, knowing the dangerous and desperate 
character of Stone, had tried to get him dropped 
from the school because he did not believe he was 
a fit person to associate with the academy schol- 
ars. At this Lawyer Marsh simply smiled. 

Roger Eliot came next, identifying one of the 
watches as belonging to him, and stating he had 
lost a little over two dollars in coin, which had 
been taken from his locker. 

These were all the witnesses against the pris- 
oner, and Marsh, after a brief opening address, 
began by calling those who had been summoned 


2 9 o BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

for him. Henry Bailey, the first, was requested 
to explain his business in Oakdale. Mr. Bailey 
stated that, following the death of Asher Rand, 
Jerry Stone, the blind boy, had disappeared ere 
the funeral could take place or Mr. Rand’s will 
be read. Bailey had been engaged to learn 
whence the blind boy had gone and bring him 
back. In endeavoring to do this he had been 
led a hard chase, failing more than once by the 
smallest margin in getting his hands upon the 
elusive boy, and in the end the pursuit had 
brought him to Oakdale. 

At this point Lawyer Frances interrupted. 
“Your Honor, I fail to see what this has to do 
with the case.” 

“Your Honor,” smiled Marsh, “we are seeking 
to establish the motive for the sudden flight of 
Ben' Stone from this town, and we hope to show 
beyond doubt that he did not run away because 
he had committed theft, but because he knew this 
pursuer of his brother had arrived and feared — 
unreasonably, doubtless — that it boded harm to 
the blind lad.” 

Ben was next called upon, and after a mo- 


ON TRIAL 


291 


ment of faltering he told his story in a slow, dis- 
tinct manner, making it straightforward and 
simple. And as he proceeded the unfavorable 
impression that had prevailed concerning him 
was gradually dispelled; for surely he did not 
speak like a desperate character or a thief; nor 
was Lawyer Frances, by his sternest and most 
accusing cross-questioning, able to confuse the 
lad or shake him in his statements. When at last 
Ben was permitted to sit down, not a few of the 
listeners in that room were looking at one an- 
other questioningly and doubtfully. 

Spotty Davis came next. He trembled visibly 
as he rose, and his parted lips, revealing the space 
of the two missing teeth in his upper jaw, seemed 
to quiver. Glancing furtively from side to side, 
but never once looking straight toward Stone, he 
finally let his gaze rest upon the floor. 

“Young man,” said Lawyer Marsh, “you were 
at the football field when Stone appeared last 
evening and spoke to Roger Eliot, were you not?” 

“Ye-yes,” faltered Spotty faintly. 

“Speak a bit louder, witness,” commanded the 
judge. 


292 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“When Stone left the field you followed him, 
didn’t you?” asked Marsh. 

“I — I dunno; I guess so. I never noticed.” 

“Do you mean to say that you did not see Stone 
when he departed from the field?” 

“Why, nun-no; I saw him. I guess ’t’wa’n’t 
long after he left before I got out. There wa’n’t 
no use hangin’ round longer, for Eliot had tole 
me he didn’t want me on the team any more.” 

“On leaving the field, whither did you go?” 

“To the gym.” 

“Did you find Stone there?” 

“Nope — no, sir. There wa’n’t nobody there.” 

“Why did you go to the gym ?” 

“To peel off my togs. I was in a playing suit, 
you know. It didn’t belong to me; it belonged 
to the team, so I left it in the gym.” 

“How long were you in the gymnasium ?” 

“Can’t tell; not a great while. It didn’t take 
me no longer than was necessary to git off my 
football suit, git into my own rags and leave. 
There wa’n’t nothing for me to hang round there 
for.” 


ON TRIAL 


293 

“After leaving the gymnasium where did you 
go?” 

“Lemme see,” hesitated Spotty as if in doubt. 
“I don’t seem to remember just where I did go.” 

“Come, come, young man; of course you re- 
member. You must remember. You’ll find it best 
to remember, I think. Where did you go?” 

“Oh, I sort of poked along into the village.” 

“Into the village? Where did you go in the 
village?” 

“Oh, I remember now,” said Spotty suddenly. 
“I thought there was something wrong with 
Stone — thought it was queer he didn’t stay for 
practise; so I just run in to Mrs. Jones’ house to 
see him.” 

“You went to Stone’s room, did you?” 

“Yep — I mean yes, sir.” 

“Was Stone there?” 

“No; his brother was, though.” 

“The blind boy?” 

“Yes, he was there.” 

“How long did you stay in Stone’s room ?” 

“Oh, lemme see. I’d have to guess at it, for I 
ain’t got no watch, and I didn’t take no notice 


294 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

of time, anyhow. Mebbe I was there five minutes 
or so.” 

“What did you do while you were there?” 

“Talked with Ben’s brother.” 

“Did you sit down ?” 

“Don’t b’lieve I did. Yes, come to think of 
it, I set on the edge of the bed while I was talkin’ 
to him. What are you askin’ me all these ques- 
tions for? I don’t know anything about this 
business. I can’t tell anything that will do no 
good.” Spotty was perspiring freely, even while 
he continued to shiver occasionally. 

“We’re simply trying to get at the facts,” said 
Lawyer Marsh quietly. “It’s always best to tell 
the exact truth.” 

“I hope you don’t think I’m lyin’,” protested 
the disturbed witness. “I ain’t got nothing to lie 
about.” 

“Did you see Ben Stone at all?” 

“Yep; he was just cornin’ in as I was leavin’. 
He was in an awful rush.” 

“Did you stop to speak with him ?” 

“No; I was goin’ to stop, but he was in such a 


ON TRIAL 


295 

hurry I didn't. He acted mighty queer to me — 
sort of scat like." 

“That’s all, young man," said the lawyer sud- 
denly; and Spotty sank down with a breath of 
relief. 

Then came a surprise as the lawyer said: 

“The next witness for the defense will be Wil- 
liam Piper. Piper, stand up." 

Sleuth rose to his feet, and there was a stir 
among those boys of the academy who had ab- 
sented themselves from school to attend the trial. 

What did Piper know about it? 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
south's CIvKVER work. 

Beneath the battery of wondering eyes turned 
upon him Sleuth bore himself proudly, for he 
felt that at last his hour had come — the hour in 
which he would demonstrate to the confusion of 
those who had sneered at him that he really pos- 
sessed the keen, penetrating, analytical mind of 
a great detective. He had long yearned for this 
opportunity, and at last, circumstances providing 
it, he was confident he had risen to the occasion. 
Indeed, there was an expression of dignity and 
sagacity in Piper’s face which surprised those 
who knew him best and led more than one to 
fancy it possible he had underrated the lad. 

Having been sworn, Sleuth cast a reassuring 
glance in the direction of Ben Stone, who was 
watching him intently, following which his eyes 
wandered to Spotty’s face, who once more sud- 
296 


SLEUTH’S CLEVER WORK 297 

denly fell to shivering, touched by the chill hand 
of apprehension and dread. 

Silence fell on the room. Bernard Hayden 
leaned forward a trifle, that he might watch the 
witness the better, and anyone looking at him 
must have fancied that in his eyes there was an 
expression of anxiety which he could not wholly 
conceal, even if he sought to do so. 

“Piper,” said Lawyer Marsh, “I wish you to 
tell His Honor in your own language, and as con- 
cisely and clearly as possible, what you know 
about this case. Go on, my lad.” 

Sleuth cleared his throat. “Your Honor and 
gentlemen of the jury,” he began; and then he 
stopped short, realizing there was no jury. The 
slight titter that ran through the room did not 
disturb him, however. “Your Honor,” he com- 
menced once more, “being personally acquainted 
with the parties of the first part and the parties 

of the second part involved in this case ” 

“I presume,” interrupted the justice, repress- 
ing any inclination to smile that he may have 
felt, “you are referring to the prisoner and the 
plaintiff.” 


298 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“Yes, Your Honor,” bowed Sleuth; “in the 
language of the law, they are the parties under 
consideration. Being personally acquainted with 
the before-mentioned parties, what was more 
natural than that, on hearing that this heinous 
crime had been committed, I should become pro- 
foundly interested in the case and should resolve 
to give it my earnest attention with the deter- 
mination of solving the deep, dark mystery ap- 
pertaining thereunto?” 

In the silence following Sleuth's pause at the 
end of this rounded period Chipper Cooper was 
distinctly heard as he whispered in the ear of 
Charlie Tuttle: 

“Say, Chub, old Sleuthy is slinging English 
some, isn’t he?” 

The judge rapped for silence, requesting the 
witness to endeavor to tell his story in the sim- 
plest language he could command. Still unruf- 
fled, Piper proceeded: 

“Unfortunately, Your Honor, I was not pres- 
ent at the time the apartment of Benjamin Stone 
was searched by the representative of the law. 
Had I been present, doubtless, witnessing the dis- 


SLEUTH’S CLEVER WORK 299 

covery of the loot and the message penciled by 
the agitated hand of the unfortunate prisoner at 
the bar would have aided me greatly in drawing 
a correct and accurate deduction. Nevertheless, 
upon learning something of what had taken place 
I set forth to obtain precise knowledge as far as 
possible of every detail. I sought the fountain 
head of knowledge, our esteemed and highly ef- 
ficient deputy sheriff, Mr. Pickle, but found him 
unwilling to accept my assistance upon the case, 
even though I gave him my generous assurance 
that I would solve the mystery. He was in a 
hurry; he wouldn’t talk about it; he told me to 
get out and stop bothering him. 

“I then proceeded to interview my fellow 
schoolmate, the plaintiff, Bernard Hayden; but 
he likewise received me with extreme ungracious- 
ness, informing me that I had better mind my 
own business. Although thus repulsed, I was in 
no whit discouraged and I vowed I would not 
be baffled. 

“It was later in the evening that I fell in with 
one Timothy Davis and drew him into conversa- 
tion concerning the topic which was then upon 


300 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

every tongue. The said Davis seemed more than 
willing to discuss the matter and was surpris- 
ingly well informed upon certain points I desired 
to know. Up to that time I had not met anyone 
who had even dropped a furtive word concerning 
the discovery of the seemingly self-accusing mis- 
sive penned by the hand of the before-mentioned 
defendant. The before-mentioned Davis knew 
about it, and, upon being closely interrogated, he 
declared he had obtained his information direct 
from the before-mentioned plaintiff. To me it 
seemed very remarkable indeed that the latter — 
by which, if you please, I refer to Bernard Hay- 
den — should impart such information to Spotty 
Davis, with whom he had never been on terms 
of close comradeship, while withholding the de- 
sired knowledge from me. Upon my making fur- 
ther inquiries in a careless, offhand manner, 
Davis told me how the loot had been found hidden 
beneath the mattress — two watches, two rings, 
and the exact sum of nine dollars and sixty-eight 
cents, including a five dollar bill and a two dollar 
bill.” 

“Your Honor,” interrupted Lawyer Frances, 


SLEUTH’S CLEVER WORK 301 

“what bearing can all this rambling, second-hand 
information have upon the case? I think we are 
wasting valuable time.” 

“May it please Your Honor,” said Sleuth lofti- 
ly, “I have been requested by the attorney for the 
defense to tell my story in my own way, and ere 
I have finished I will demonstrate to your satis- 
faction and the satisfaction of every person pres- 
ent that every word I speak has a bearing upon 
the matter and is necessary to explain the rea- 
sons which led up to my deduction involving the 
before-mentioned Timothy Davis in a network of 
his own weaving, from which I think he will 
scarcely escape with ease.” 

At this Davis betrayed such consternation that 
even the least acute could perceive beyond ques- 
tion that he was intensely alarmed. 

“Go on, Piper,” instructed Judge Trueworthy; 
“but do try to cut out some of the big words.” 

“As far as I could learn,” proceeded Sleuth, 
“not another person outside of those who were 
present at the time of the discovery of the swag 
knew exactly what sum of money had been found 
hidden beneath the straw mattress in the room of 


302 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

the defendant. It is true that, by comparison of 
their losses, Bern Hayden and Roger Eliot had 
stated the amount of money stolen; and here 
comes the discrepancy which set me at work upon 
a clew of vast importance. Unless the before- 
mentioned Hayden and Eliot were mistaken, the 
amount stolen from them failed to correspond by 
the sum of twenty cents to the amount recovered 
by the representative of the law, Deputy Sheriff 
Pickle. A trifling matter, perhaps you will say. 
Certainly it is true that the thief might have 
retained the missing sum, but does it not seem 
remarkable that he should have done so and left 
behind him in his flight the larger amount hid- 
den in that room ? It is likewise true that the be- 
foresaid Davis might have learned from the be- 
fore-mentioned Hayden just what sum of money 
was recovered, but, being nonchalantly questioned 
regarding this, he denied it. Therefore my de- 
duction was that Timothy Davis, knowing pre- 
cisely where the plunder was concealed, knowing 
accurately the amount recovered by the officer 
of the law, knew also more than he had revealed 
unto me. I spent some hours in meditating on 


SLEUTH’S CLEVER WORK 303 

this matter. Indeed, sleep scarcely visited my 
eyes during the night but lately passed. 

“At break of day I rose and hastened to the 
gymnasium, to which I obtained admittance by a 
key similar to that provided every member of the 
football team. At the gymnasium I made a close 
inspection of the pilfered lockers, being there to 
obtain a clew of some sort, a desire which was 
amply rewarded. Within the locker of the plain- 
tiff, Bernard Hayden, I discovered, attached to 
the end of a protruding nail, a shred of cloth 
apparently torn from the coat-sleeve of some per- 
son who had reached into that locker. I seized 
upon it with avidity, for I was assured it would 
prove of vast importance in the solution of the 
dark and baffling mystery/’ 

“Is this the shred of cloth you found there, 
Piper?” questioned Lawyer Marsh, as he took a 
tiny three-cornered piece of fabric from amid 
the exhibits on the table and passed it to the 
witness. 

“That is the identical shred,” declared Sleuth 
positively, handing it back. “Close examination 
led me to the conclusion that that piece of cloth 


304 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

could possibly have come from the garment of 
only one person in Oakdale. In order, however, 
that I might make no error, I again sought Tim- 
othy Davis immediately after breakfast, and, 
without arousing his suspicions by letting him 
become aware of my motive, I perceived that a 
small patch of cloth, corresponding in every par- 
ticular with the one before the court, had been 
torn from the right sleeve of his coat.” 

Again all eyes were turned on Davis, who sat 
huddled upon his chair, his right arm held across 
his lap. 

“Davis,” called Lawyer Marsh sharply, “will 
you please stand up.” 

Shaking like a leaf, Spotty lifted himself upon 
his pins. 

“Hold up your right hand,” requested the law- 
yer, stepping quickly toward him and seizing his 
wrist. “Here, Your Honor, you may see the 
torn place in this lad's coat-sleeve, and you may 
also perceive beyond question that the shred of 
fabric discovered by Piper clinging to the nail in 
Bernard Hayden's locker corresponds with the 
material of this garment.” 


SLEUTH’S CLEVER WORK 305 

“I never ” began Spotty chokingly; but the 

lawyer released him, and the judge, rapping his 
desk, sternly ordered him to sit down and be 
silent. 

Triumphantly Piper proceeded. “By this time, 
Your Honor, I was absolutely convinced that I 
was on the right trail, and thenceforth I shad- 
owed the suspect with the persistence of a blood- 
hound, never once letting him escape from be- 
neath my hawklike eye. About an hour before 
court opened Davis entered the store of one Theo- 
dore Welcome, who is proprietor in this town of 
a bazaar at which tobacco in its various forms 
may be purchased. I was at his heels, lingering 
at a little distance in a careless, insouciant man- 
ner; and from the open doorway of Mr. Wel- 
come’s store I saw Davis purchasing a pack of 
cigarettes, for which he tendered a piece of silver 
money. 

“Then arose some discussion over the silver 
piece, which the proprietor of the store stated 
amounted only to the value of twenty cents, but 
which the before-mentioned Davis had apparently 
fancied was a quarter. The instant Davis de- 


306 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

parted I hurried to Mr. Welcome and asked the 
privilege of examining that piece of money, 
which he kindly showed me. The moment my 
eagle eye fell upon it I knew it was a coin on 
which there was a premium, as it bore the date 
of 1878. This piece of money I secured from 
Mr. Welcome, giving him fifty cents for it, and 
it is here among the exhibits as evidence in this 
case. There is upon it a mutilation, a tiny cross 
cut or scratched by some sharp instrument. 

“Your Honor, I knew the moment my eyes 
fell on that mark that I had previously seen that 
twenty-cent piece in the possession of my highly 
esteemed friend, Roger Eliot, who carried it as 
a pocket piece. Therefore I was assured beyond 
doubt that it must be a part of the plunder, the 
sum missing when the money was recovered from 
its place of concealment. I had often heard Eliot 
refuse to part with that silver piece, upon which 
he stated in my hearing that there was a premium 
of two dollars/' 

By this time there was a profound sensation in 
the courtroom. As he proceeded, the somewhat 
extravagant language of Piper was overlooked 


SLEUTH'S CLEVER WORK 307 

by all, and now, with this climax, the judge was 
compelled to rap repeatedly to restore quiet and 
order in the room. 

Lawyer Marsh, grave but well satisfied, took 
the piece of money from the table and requested „ 
Piper to identify it, which he did. Roger Eliot 
likewise examined the coin, and stated that it 
belonged to him and had been stolen, with the 
rest of his money and his watch, from his locker. 

“Your Honor,” said Sleuth, eager to proceed, 
“having learned from the lips of the said Davis 
that, after leaving the football field last night, he 
visited the room of the defendant while the said 
defendant was absent, I immediately arrived at 
the deduction that ” 

“Never mind your deductions, young man,” in- 
terrupted the justice. “If you have reached the 
end of your story you may sit down.” 

This Piper did with evident great reluctance 
and disappointment; and, Theodore Welcome 
being present, he was called to the stand, where 
he corroborated the statement of the last witness 
and also identified the coin as the one he had re- 
ceived from Davis. 


308 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

“Your Honor,” said Lawyer Marsh, “the de- 
fense, having no further witnesses and desiring 
none, rests here, with the request that the deputy 
sheriff be instructed to keep a close watch upon 
Timothy Davis until a warrant may be sworn 
out for his arrest.” 

A sob broke the silence; it came from Davis, 
who suddenly cried in a husky, choking voice : 

“Don’t arrest me — please don’t! I’ll confess! 
I’ll tell everything! I took the stuff from the 
lockers. I was sore on Eliot ’cause he fired me 
off the eleven. I was sore on everybody, I guess 
— Stone, too, ’cause he had made good. But I’d 
never done it if it hadn’t been for Bern Hayden. 
He come to me when I was changing my togs in 
the gym. He told me to do it, and he promised 
to git me back onto the team and give me ten 
dollars to boot. He’s more to blame than I be.” 

“It’s a lie,” shouted Hayden, who had risen to 
his feet, “a dirty lie, and I ” 

“Order in the court!” thundered the judge, 
pounding the desk with his gavel. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


cuar skies. 

The case against Ben Stone broke down right 
there. Lawyer Frances held a hurried consulta- 
tion with Lemuel Hayden and his son, and on his 
advice the charge against Ben was withdrawn 
and Stone was dismissed, exonerated. 

The demonstration which followed was re- 
markable. People crowded around Ben and 
Jerry and insisted on shaking the former’s hand 
and telling him how pleased they were because his 
innocence had been established. His schoolmates 
thumped him on the back and would have car- 
ried him on their shoulders from the hall had he 
not fought against it. Mrs. Jones forced her 
way through the crowd, with Jimmy hobbling on 
his crutches behind her, and, sobbing her joy, 
clasped Ben in her arms. 

“I knowed he wa’n’t no thief!” she cried hap- 
309 


310 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

pily. “Nobody that could be good as he was to 
a little lame boy would steal. You’ve had a heap 
of troubles, Ben, but they’re all over now. I 
don’t s’pose y’u have et anything since y’u was 
locked up; but I cal’lated you’d git off, an’ I’ve 
got Sadie tendin’ a big roast, an’ we’ll have a feed 
that’ll give y’u injunjesshun, which I guess y’u 
can stand once if Joel, my late departed, could 
endure it all his born days. Land! but I’m so 
happy I feel like cryin’ my eyes out.” 

“With your permission, madam,” said Henry 
Bailey, “I would like to accompany these two 
lads to your house, having a matter of great 
importance to talk over with them.” 

“Come right along, mister,” invited the widow. 
“There’ll be plenty of vittles for y’u, too.” 

Mr. Bailey was not the only one who accom- 
panied them. Leaving the courtroom, Ben and 
Jerry were escorted by a triumphal procession 
all the way to Mrs. Jones’ gate, where twenty 
boys cheered the acquitted lad, who paused upon 
the steps to look back at them, his plain face il- 
lumined by an expression of joy which made it 
seem actually comely. 


CLEAR SKIES 


3i 1 


“Thank you, fellows/' he said, holding out his 
open hands to them. “It's good of you, and I'll 
never forget it." 

Sleuth Piper started to make a speech. 

“My deduction was " he began. 

“Your deduction was all right, Sleuth," 
laughed Roger Eliot, giving him a slap on the 
shoulder. “You've established your reputation 
as the greatest detective of modern times, Sher- 
lock Holmes not excepted." 

Even after the house was entered those boys 
were heard cheering for Stone as they marched 
back into the village. 

“Set right down, everybody," invited the 
widow. “Make yourselves to home while I take 
a look at the roast an' git the potatoes to bakin'." 

“It is very fortunate, boys," said Henry 
Bailey, “that this affair terminated as well as it 
did. This is my first opportunity to talk with 
you both together, and I'll tell you now that much 
more good fortune is in store for you. Jerry put 
himself to needless trouble by running away ere 
his uncle's will was read ; for in that will, which 
was drawn up barely two months before Asher 


312 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

Rand’s death, and which was found in Mr. 
Rand’s small private safe, a legacy was left to 
you both — a legacy that will place you beyond 
need. 

“It seems that your father, in those years while 
he worked so privately in his home, was engaged 
upon a very clever invention, which he had prac- 
tically perfected at the time of his unfortunate 
arrest. That invention fell into the hands of 
Asher Rand, who, on learning its value, was 
sorely tempted and kept its existence a secret, 
finally disposing of it to a concern that pays a 
royalty upon it of three thousand dollars yearly. 
Your uncle’s conscience must have been pricked 
to a point which led him to draw up that last will, 
in which he provides that the income from this 
invention shall be divided equally between you 
both. 

“But since Mr. Rand’s death there have been 
disclosures of still greater importance. Nathan 
Driggs, the man who caused all your father’s 
trouble and calamitous misfortune, has been ill 
for some months, and recently he passed away. 
Ere he died, being satisfied beyond doubt that 


CLEAR SKIES 


3i3 

there was no hope for him, he made a confession 
which fully exonerates your father and clears his 
name of the stigma upon it. Driggs confessed 
that your father's testimony concerning him at 
the trial was absolutely true — that he did bring 
the packages of dies for making counterfeit 
money to your father, and, having deceived him 
regarding the contents of those packages, in- 
duced him to conceal them in his house, where 
they were found. Therefore Abner Stone was 
unjustly convicted of the crime and died an inno- 
cent man through the effects of the wound he 
received while trying to escape from prison." 

All this was so marvelous that it left the two 
boys breathless. 

The widow had listened with speechless de- 
light; and now, her eyes again filled with tears 
of joy, she cried: 

“Lands to mercy! Now ain't that jest amaz- 
in' ! Here I've been entertainin' under my roof 
a couple of heirs to wealth ! Three thousand dol- 
lars! Fifteen hundred dollars apiece! Why, it 
puts y'u both beyond the touch of the tooth of 


3i4 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

avarice. I guess folks 'round this town will set 
up an' take notice when they hear about it.” 

Ben gave his blind brother a hug. Every- 
body laughed. The little yellow dog, sitting on 
his haunches and gazing at them, barked sharply, 
then, with his mouth open, wrinkled his nose and 
bobbed his tongue. 

“Look,” cried Jimmy — “look at Pilot! He's 
laughing, too.” 

Every cloud was gone from the sky, swept 
away to return no more. Ben Stone, whose ap- 
pearance in Oakdale had been so unfavorable, 
whose days there had been so filled with trouble 
and strife, found himself the hero of the 
village and the coveted friend of those lads 
who had once regarded him with doubt and 
aversion. When he and Jerry and Pilot depart- 
ed, with Henry Bailey, who took the boys away 
until such time as Asher Rand's affairs should 
be definitely settled and a guardian appointed for 
them, nearly every lad in the village, together 
with a number of the girls and not a few of the 


CLEAR SKIES 


3i5 

older citizens, accompanied them to the railway 
station. 

“Ben,” said Roger Eliot, speaking for the 
party on the station platform, “we’re proud of 
you, and we hate to see you leave us. We need 
you on the eleven. It’s too bad you’re going 
away now.” 

“My deduction is,” interrupted Sleuth Piper, 
“that he will come back.” 

“Yes, boys,” promised Ben, with his hand 
grasping the iron rail of the passenger coach, “I 
shall come back if I can. I have talked about it 
with Mr. Bailey, and he thinks there will be no 
trouble in making the arrangements. I have had 
something of a scramble in Oakdale, but I like 
the place; for here at last I have found more 
friends that I ever knew before. Oh, yes, I’m 
coming back if I can.” 

Then the train bore him away. 

He did come back. In less than two weeks he 
returned to finish his course at the academy, stop- 
ping, as before, at the home of the Widow Jones, 
but now having the best room in the house. 


316 BEN STONE AT OAKDALE 

He found that Roger Eliot, supported by his 
father, had refused to prosecute Spotty Davis or 
Bernard Hayden. As for Hayden, he had sud- 
denly decided that the school at Oakdale was not 
satisfactory, and had left to attend a larger pre- 
paratory academy in another State. 


The: end. 



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